


The People v. John Laurens

by xissiar



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Court Drama, Depression, Drowning, Flashbacks, Ham and Herc are Lawyers, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, Lame Poetry References, Laurens' siblings, M/M, Murder, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Slut Shaming, Violence, angsty, non-binary Lafayette, oh yeah and Henry Laurens gets killed, poorly made crepes, teenage John, viking runes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2018-07-13 22:57:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 68,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7141553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xissiar/pseuds/xissiar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of abuse reach a breaking point, John Laurens murders his father, Congressman Henry Laurens. </p><p>Hamilton and Mulligan, attorneys at law, are defending him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Chasm

_“911, where is your emergency?”_

_“Uh.. my house.”_

_“What’s the address?”_

_“8073 Aprich St.”_

_“Okay, and what is your emergency?”_

 

The 911 operators voice had the calm, bored tone of a mother with less than two hours of sleep under her belt. John was surprised by her voice. He felt like he hadn’t heard anyone’s voice in a long time.

 

_“I… I just shot my father.”_

_“I’m sorry, what was that?” Her voice lost its serenity._

_“I just shot my father.”_

 

The woman kept him on the line, continuously asking him if he still had the gun and, if so, that he needed to put it down and walk away from it. She asked if he was sure his father was dead, and he said yes. She asked where the body was, he told her his father was in the kitchen.

 

_“There’s a lot of blood.”_

_“It’s okay, just walk away from it. Go back to the living room.”_

 

And so he did. John was aching, a mixture of both his and his father’s blood drenching him. His lungs stung him every time he tried to breathe in. His heart was so loud he could hear it in his head. She asked him his name.

 

_“John Laurens.”_

_She was silent for a moment before he heard her typing at her keyboard again. “Is your father Henry Laurens?”_

_He nodded, then realized she couldn’t see that. “Yes ma’am.”_

 

She asked him why he did it.

 

_“I just couldn’t take it anymore.”_

 

Time passed eerily, like taking a nap during the day and waking up at night. He didn’t know how long it had been dark out, and he didn’t know how long until dawn. He wasn’t even sure the sun would come up. There was no light in his house other than the streetlight and moonlight mixture filtering through the windows.

 

He couldn’t remember if she had already asked him if he was hurt, but he felt like he should bring it up.

 

_“I’m hurt.”_

_“What’s hurt on you, sweetie?”_

_“My head. It’s bleeding and it’s getting into my eyes. I think he broke my ribs.”_

_“Did you and your dad get into a fight before this happened?”_

_“Yeah.”_

 

She asked for specifics, but didn’t push when John wouldn’t tell her. It was her job to keep him on the phone and keep his mind occupied, and she started making small talk.

 

_“How old are you, John?”_

_“Seventeen.”_

_“Where is the rest of your family right now?”_

_“Gone. The girls are at a sleepover and James and Henry are spending the night at our uncle’s house.”_

_“Why didn’t you go?”_

_“I wasn’t invited.”_

 

He heard the sound of her keyboard clacking. It seemed like a long time since he made the call, and the police still hadn’t arrived. Glancing at the wall separating him and his dad’s body, he wondered if they’d send an ambulance or just a coroner.

She asked him if he wanted to hurt himself, and he said no. She asked if he had been planning this, and he said no. She told him that if he wanted to talk to her, she was right there listening.

 

_“I’m sorry I did this.”_

_“It’s okay sweetie, help is on the way.”  
_

_“I didn’t want this to happen.”_

 

She kept talking, telling him to stay on the line, asking him if there were any cars out front of his house. She asked if he had any guard dogs and told him to turn on the porch light. He did, and about that time three police cars and two ambulances had arrived. They asked him to step outside.

 It was strange, stepping out into the cold night air. It made his lungs hurt even more, and the police didn’t seem to care about that when they slammed him on the hood of their car. They told him his rights and pushed him into their back seat.

 

 

 

 

“Of all the wackadoodle shit I’ve seen, this has got to be the best.”

The headline of the newspaper Mulligan slapped on his desk caught his attention. _‘Congressman Henry Laurens murdered by son.’_

“Poor bastard. I mean, I figured someone would off that son of a bitch sooner or later, but still.”

Henry Laurens was known for his radical politics and offensive slurs. He opposed gay marriage, wanted to outlaw abortion, and probably kicked puppies in his down time.

In one particularly memorable incident, Henry Laurens made an entire speech about how the wage gap is no longer an issue, and that modern feminists were wasting valuable time and resources. To which Congresswoman Angelica Schuyler had to be physically restrained from punching him in the face. It was all over YouTube.

“And we’re defending him.”

“I’m sorry—what?”

“We’re defending him,” Mulligan crossed his arms and stood proud, towering over Hamilton’s desk.

“The fuck we are.”

“Hamilton—“

“He literally confessed, Mulligan. I’m not an idiot, I’m not taking up a lost cause.”

Mulligan grinned, and pulled a check out of his pocket. “I figured you’d say that. An ‘anonymous’ member of the Laurens family approached us, and this is how much they’re paying us to defend him. They double it if we win.”

Hamilton begrudgingly stood and kicked his swivel chair behind him, taking the check.

“Holy sh—“

“We’re taking the case.”

“Oh, we’re definitely taking the case.”

 

 

 

 

The tiny Mulligan and Hamilton law firm was a quaint little place, complete with two tiny offices and a drafty reception area. Lafayette worked as their receptionist, actively throwing their opinion in at whatever case happened to pop up.

“This is a terrible, terrible idea,” they said, French accent thick.

“And we’re going to be rich, rich so it doesn’t matter. Cheer up, buckaroo,” Mulligan said, clapping them on their shoulder. “We’re gonna go talk to this kid, see what we can do with how much he’s already said.”

“It doesn’t matter if you can get him off, it matters that you’re defending a murderer,” Lafayette said incredulously.

“That’s what I thought,” Hamilton interrupted. “Until I saw the check.”

“You cannot just take cases for money!”

“Lafayette,” Mulligan said. “We kind of have to.”

“For what reason?”

“It’s our job,” Hamilton said.

“Don’t let Hercules convince you that it is your job to defend everyone, mon lion. You’re so young, and—“

“I’m not that young,” Hamilton argued.

“21 is too young to be a lawyer, Alexander. I warned Hercules of that.”

“Yet somehow,” Mulligan interrupted, “Hamilton is doing just fine. He holds his own in the courtroom better than I do, sometimes.”

“I know what I’m doing, Laf,” he said. “We’re defending this boy. Besides, we need the money.”

“No, you _want_ the money,” Lafayette said. “And you promised me to not let you turn into money hungry lawyers. Remember that?”

“We’re not money hungry—“ Mulligan started.

“As the foremost expert on this subject, you are exactly what you make yourself,” Lafayette said. “Wealth shouldn’t decide your life. If it had decided mine, I’d be a miserable boy in France right now.”

“So you’re saying if we take this case we’re going to turn gender-queer and work as receptionists? Sounds like a fucking plan,” Hamilton said proudly, reaching up to high five Mulligan.

“That’s not at all what I said!” Laffayette called after them, the two men already on their way out of the front door.

“See you in a few hours, little homie,” Mulligan said.

“And where are you two going?”

“Gotta meet our client,” Hamilton called before closing the door on Lafayette.

Lafayette folded their arms and plopped down in their chair. “American morons."

 

 

 

 

He was handcuffed, hands folded neatly on the table. His hair was pulled back and greasy, and his eyes had bags under them. His head was stitched up in about three visible places (great fodder for an abuse claim) and he was breathing shallowly.

So, yeah, he looked like a criminal. But he was also so young. 17, they had said. Hamilton himself was only 21. Laurens was a skinny thing, all cheekbones and legs. Sitting under the fluorescent lights he was almost a painting. Maybe a tragedy, maybe a poem.

 “Mr. Laurens,” Mulligan said, plopping his briefcase down on the metal table.

“You’re my lawyers?” John asked, voice rusty with disuse.

“We’re your lawyers,” Hamilton confirmed.

“And we want to help you, John.”

Hamilton nodded. “But first,” he turned to the guards. “Uncuff him and step outside.”

“Sir, he’s under watch,” one of them tried to explain.

“Uncuff him and step outside.” He repeated.

“We wouldn’t adv—“

“Did I stutter?” Hamilton said, not making it a question at all.

“No sir,” the other guard said. He walked to uncuff John, both lawyers watching him intently until he stepped outside with his partner. Mulligan chuckled.

“Is that better?” Hamilton asked.

“Yes, thank you,” John said quietly.

“My name is Alexander Hamilton,” he said, gesturing to himself then at his partner. “This is Hercules Mulligan. No shit, that’s his real name.”

John gave a weak grin and nodded. He appreciated the attempt at humor, but just couldn’t find anything particularly funny anymore.

“First thing’s first, we’re gonna need some information. And we need your complete honesty,” Mulligan said.

“I can try,” he said weakly.

As soon as Hamilton properly assessed the situation, the pair started working in their cohesive way that’s won them every case they’ve ever done together. Which, to be fair, they’d only worked three so far. But, hey, three out of three is a hell of a start.

Hamilton spoke first.

“Have you smoked, drank, or taken any drugs this year?”

“Yes.”

“Within the past month?”

“Yes.”

“What did you take?”

“I drank.”

“How soon prior to the incident?”

John chuckled darkly. The incident. If that’s what they want to call it.

“I drank after school that day.”

“This a regular thing for you?”

“Um,” John hesitated. “Yes.”

“Has anyone drug tested you?”

“No.”

“Then we’ll lie,” Mulligan butted in. “If they make you do one, we’re your lawyers and we can deny it based on the grounds that you’re a minor and it’s intrusive.”

“We need to paint you as a good kid, John,” Hamilton explained. “For most people, alcohol doesn’t fit in with that.”

“Okay,” John said.

“Next question,” Mulligan interrupted. “Do you have any violence on your records? Either police or school.”

“Not on any records, no.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think so.”

“Do you have any witnesses or writings that might point to you being violent?” Hamilton asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“I need an answer.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Police haven’t formally questioned you yet, have they?” Mulligan asked, looking worried.

“No.”

“Good,” Hamilton sighed. “Can you describe your family situation? Any step-parents, divorces, deaths, fights, anything. And the details, home life. Tell us about your routine, even.”

John sighed, pushing a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Hamilton watched him intently while Mulligan kept up the notes.

“John?”

“I’m so tired,” he looked up at the two of them helplessly.

 “We’re trying to help you, John,” Hamilton said.

“I know.”

Hamilton and Mulligan sighed, exchanging looks. The kid was pathetic, sitting there all skinny and exhausted. It broke Hamilton’s heart a little.

“Alright kiddo,” Mulligan said, packing back up his notebook. “We’re coming back tomorrow, assuming you haven’t been bailed by then.”

John nodded.

“Try to get some rest,” Hamilton said, lightly patted his shoulder and followed Mulligan outside.

 

 

 

 

 

Rest didn’t come easy.

His room—his _cell_ , he had to remind himself—was dark, with concrete walls and actual bars on the front. This was prison. This was prison, and he was in it.

At first he had been numb, too full of shock to really feel anything, then he felt the dread. Like a ball of something black and angry just sitting in the bottom of his stomach, reaching its greedy hands up to pull on his chest. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was dreading, maybe the court, maybe tomorrow, maybe the rest of his life. When it comes down to it, John Laurens was a murderer.

He hadn’t really thought about it, hadn’t had time to. But surrounded by thick silence and empty darkness, he began to think.

The only people who knew exactly what happened that day are him and his father. His father, of course, can’t testify against him. Would John be tried as an adult? He wasn’t sure, but seventeen seems old enough to be tried as an adult.

He had only seen court coverages on TV. His lawyers were very… much. They were just a lot to take in. The younger one—Hamilton, he had called himself, was bright eyed and energetic. He had more life in his eyes alone than John had in his entire self. Mulligan was dignified, sharp, and tactful. He had the experience, and he clearly took his job very seriously. They worked good together. Apparently they won every case they’d defended.

John hated to break that streak.

 

 

 

 

_“I thought you were inviting the kids to stay at your and Emily’s place,” his mother said, looking concerned._

_“We did,” his Uncle Winston answered, not bothering to look at John. “We invited your children to stay with us, I don’t consider him family.”_

_John looked at the ground and kicked a rock, pretending not to eavesdrop on their conversation. He felt his heart swell up like a giant balloon in the worst way possible._

_“Excuse me?” Mom said._

_“Look, Eleanor, I love the kid, I do. But you’re leading him down the wrong roads.”_

_“You better think about the next words that come out of your mouth very carefully,” she warned._

_“You’re my sister and I love you, but the thing is: you let your boy dress in pink, you let him hang out with the girls and shop at girly stores.”_

_Mom was silent._

_“Did you ever stop to think that you’re condoning the wrong kind of behavior?”_

_“My boy can dress how he wants to dress, and he can spend his time with whomever he pleases. I’ll be damned if I take parenting lessons from you, Winston.”_

_“Fine,” Uncle Winston leaned in close to whisper. John had to strain his ears to hear. “But when your son turns out to be a queer, you’ll have God and Henry to answer to,” he said. “And Lord knows neither of them are gonna be kind.”_

 

 

 

 

John sat outside the prison, getting in his hour of outdoor recreation time before he was forced to go back in. He stared at the pavement, making shapes out of the white gaps in it. Like constellations, only dirtier.

He just felt very small. Very small and very, very alone.

Was he supposed to be making friends? He wasn’t sure how to make friends in prison, apart from what he’d seen of Shawshank Redemption. It didn’t look like Morgan Freeman was going to come out and offer him a cigarette anytime soon, so John figured he wouldn’t be making any friends here.

Alcohol always helped, but there was no alcohol in prison. He’d fistfight the fucking sun for a glass of whiskey right now.

 “John Laurens,” a guard called from the gate.

The majority of the courtyard fell silent. He was recognizable—at least his last name was. These men had to know who he is and what he’d done. The men just stared as he passed by, not looking any one of them in the eye.

Yeah, whiskey would be great right about now.

“Yes?” He said to the guard, voice barely a whisper.

“Your lawyers are waiting for you, same place as yesterday. Cooper and Blake will escort you,” he said, gesturing to two bigger guards waiting by the first gate inside.

John followed them silently to the room, one leading in front of him and one trailing behind. It wasn’t necessary, but they felt like they needed to, and he respected that.

He was a murderer, after all.

The two men were sitting side by side again, notepads out, both offering artificial smiles perfected by only actors and lawyers. John didn’t know how these men felt about him, and he really hadn’t had a chance to think about it.

“Good to see you again, Mister Laurens,” Hamilton rose to his feet to shake John’s hand, followed by Mulligan doing the same.

“Yeah,” John said. “You too.”

“So have you thought any since our last discussion?” Mulligan asked.

Yeah, he had thought a lot. Not about anything that would be helpful to them, though. “Kind of.”

“So what did you come up with? About the home life question.”

John licked his lips and looked up at the men in front of him, deciding to try to actually talk to them. They were trying to help him, after all. It was their job, but still. He appreciated that. “I just come home and do homework and try to cook, usually.”

“You cook?” Hamilton asked.

They’re trying to feign interest. “Yes.”

“Is this a hobby of yours?” Mulligan asked.

“Not really, but Dad fired the cooks about a year ago, so I’ve taken over.”

“Why did your father fire the cooks?”

John shrugged, not willing to offer up a story at the moment.

Hamilton and Mulligan exchanged a look, then jotted something down on paper.

“Hamilton and I read the police reports from your mother. We’re very sorry.”

John tilted his mouth in what should have been a humble grin but felt more like a snarl.

“Were and your mother close?” Mulligan asked.

“Very.”

Hamilton interrupted. “Last time we spoke, you mentioned not being invited to your uncles’ house. Why is that?”

“He never lets me over there.”

“Why not?”

John shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not sure.”

Hamilton gave him a look, reading right through him. “Is that so?”

John nodded.

Right then, as a saving grace to John, Hamilton’s phone rang. It was some Top 40 song about butts, and Hamilton’s eyes widened and he scrambled to silence it.

“Alex, really?”

“Sorry,” He said meekly.

“Who has that ringtone?”

“Laf.”

John tuned them out, glancing up at the walls, trying to mentally escape this room and this situation.

The phone rang again.

“Oh for the love of—“ Hamilton started. “Do you mind?” He asked John.

“Go ahead,” John said.

Hamilton stood and walked to the other side of the room, as if that would do any good.

Mulligan made an exasperated face at John and looked back at Hamilton.

“This had better be an emergency,” he whispered into the phone. “I’m working.”

There was a short silence as he listened to the other end of the phone.

“Laf we’ll talk about this later.” He hung up.

“Well?” Mulligan raised his eyebrows.

“The walking baguette met a man that they felt like they needed to tell me about. Then they burned the themself on something—I’m not really sure, something about a burn and a man. I cut him off before he could finish the story.”

“They.”

“Right, they. You know for a straight cis man you’re killin’ it with the pronouns.”

“What are you two talking about?” John piped up, suddenly interested.

Hamilton and Mulligan looked at each other. John wished they wouldn’t do that so much.

“Our receptionist, Lafayette.”

“They?” John asked.

“They’re genderqueer,” Hamilton clarified.

“Genderqueer?”

“Yeah, they’re a nonconformist when it comes to gender roles. They is Laf’s pronoun of choice.”

“It’s complicated, and they don’t want to be mis-gendered, so they is Laf’s pronoun,” Mulligan said. “They’re the reason the male or female boxes on surveys now have N/A options.”

They both waited and watched John as if he was about to go off about this new information. He just sat still. Finally, he spoke.

“That’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, they’re a cool person,” Mulligan said fondly.

“Anyways,” Hamilton said. “Enough about that French nightmare. More about you. Where were we?”

The rest of the interview went about the same as the first half did. John only offering short, vague answers with Mulligan and Hamilton doing everything in their power to get him to speak up. They finally left him to himself.

John supposed he was going to be by himself a lot now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They had never had a client quite as bad as John Laurens.

He just wouldn’t talk to them. Yes, the experience was scarring, but he’s clearly not a cold-blooded killer, he’s just a kid. A kid in a maximum security prison, but still.

In court, he would do beautifully, if they could just get him to talk. He could play the young, abused card. He had the face for it. Deep brown eyes and freckles dotting his nose, giving him that boyish charm juries love so much. Hamilton could tell the court that years of familial abuse led up to this one moment where he had to fight for his life, and he won. It was a good story, and Hamilton wasn’t sure it wasn’t entirely true.

The ride home had been fairly tense, both Hamilton and Mulligan thinking about alternative ways to go about the case with what little information they’d been given. Law school should have prepared them for this, and it did—just not enough. Law school mostly just taught them how to lie and make hotdogs in a coffee pot.

When they got home to their creaky, oversized apartment, no school in the world could have prepared Hamilton for what was sitting at his dining room table.

“Burr?”

Hamilton dropped his briefcase in pure shock.

“Sir!” Burr exclaimed, standing up and walking over to the door to pull him into a much unwelcome hug. “I haven’t seen you since law school!”

“Yeah,” Hamilton said, still in a daze. He heard Mulligan and Lafayette trying to hide their snickers.

“Good to see you as well, Hercules,” Burr said, shaking his hand.

“The pleasure is all mine, Burr. Believe me,” he smirked, shrugging out of his jacket to hang on their coat rack.

While Burr had his back to Hamilton, he looked at the table where Lafayette still sat and ran one finger over his throat in a silent threat. What moron would let Aaron fucking Burr into their apartment? Even better, why would Aaron fucking Burr want to be in their apartment?

“I have made supper, why don’t you boys join me at the table, I’ll fix your plates,” Lafayette piped in, then walked over to the stove.

Burr nodded happily and walked to the dinner table followed by Hamilton and Mulligan.

“This will be nice,” he said. “I don’t believe you and I have sat down to eat together since college.”

“No, we haven’t.” Hamilton agreed, eyeing Burr carefully. The two shared a dorm in college, and actually got along great. They lived together a lot more peacefully than he and Mulligan do, to be quite honest.

Lafayette started bringing out the plates two at a time like a real cook, offering Burr one first, then Mulligan. They came back later with their own plate and Hamilton’s.

“So,” Laf said, chewing happily. “This is what I called you about earlier when you so rudely hung up on me.”

“We were working a case, Laf,” Mulligan defended.

“Is that so?” Burr chimed in. “What’s the case?”

“Murder trial,” Hamilton said shortly.

“Is it _the_ murder trial?” Burr asked, reading right through him.

“Got no idea what you’re talking about,” Mulligan said through a mouthful of food.

“I see,” Burr said. “I don’t mean to pry.”

“There’s not much information to give, anyways. The client isn’t really talking,” Hamilton admitted.

“Well that’s… odd.”

“Yes."

“You know, in school they taught us what to do about situations like this. It was Mr. Adams class, assuming you were listening. I know you hated the man.”

Hamilton narrowed his eyes, already defensive. “He didn’t say jack about any of this.”

“Yes, he did,” Burr said. “It was the same day of that snow storm when we basically camped out in the Murphy building all night.”

“Oh yeah,”  Hamilton said. Damn, he hated to be wrong.

“What’d he say?” Mulligan asked.

“He said that if the client won’t talk to you, make him comfortable. Pique his interests, include him. Remember that story about the guy who killed his buddy with the bedside lamp? Wouldn’t say a word, so he brought pizza and beer with him the next time he came to see him, and he got the information.”

“You’re suggesting we bribe our client with greasy foods and liquor?” Hamilton asked flatly.

“No, I’m suggesting you see what interests him and hone in on that. Or make him comfortable with music or food or puppies or something. I don’t know, you’ll just have to figure it out.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Mulligan said, dropping his fork onto his empty plate.

“Jesus you eat fast,” Lafayette commented.

“They don’t call me Hercules for nothing. I’m going for seconds,” he scooted his chair out and walked to the kitchen.

“So do you already have your degree, then?” Burr asked, turning to Hamilton. “I know you did the whole genius route: graduate high school at 16 and be done with pre-law in two years, but have you had time to finish your actual law degree?”

“Working on it currently.”

“Aren’t you already practicing?”

“Well, yes,” he admitted. “But it’s technically an apprenticeship.”

“But your name is in the company,” Burr tilted his head.

“A very involved apprenticeship.”

The two men looked across the table at one another, in their silent snobby Hamilton/Burr way that made everyone else so uncomfortable.

“So, Burr told me you two went to college together,” Lafayette interrupted.

“Roommates for a full year,” Hamilton said.

“Why only one?” Lafayette inquired, knowing damn well why they only roomed together for a year.

Burr and Hamilton exchanged looks. “There was trouble,” Burr said.

“How so?” Laf smiled.

“I may or may not have published a campus wide pamphlet dragging Burr for running for student body president,” Hamilton said casually.

Burr blinked, still trying to keep his cool. “And I didn’t get the position because of it.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I’m glad you’re together now, maybe you can make amends,” Laf offered.

“Wait a minute,” Hamilton interrupted. “I wasn’t the reason you didn’t get that position. You didn’t get that position because you were a bad candidate.”

Lafayette’s eyes grew wide as they put down their fork. They all knew the night was effectively ruined.

“Hamilton,” Burr said, keeping his voice even. “I was campaigning daily, I had the votes until you publicly lied and humiliated me. I came here to put that behind us.”

“First, you came here because Laf let you in. Second, you only had the votes because the campus was ill-informed. They had no way of knowing the real you.”

“And they just so happened to know the real James Madison?”

“James Madison was a friend of both of us. He’s clever, capable, and sharp as a tack. He believes in things, Burr.”

“And where has that got him? I haven’t seen his name pop up on any alumni newsletters.”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. He was what was best for our campus.”

“I can’t believe that after all these years you’re still too prideful to apologize.”

“I won’t apologize because I wasn’t wrong,” Hamilton said.

“No, you genuinely believe that I’m not good enough to be any kind of leader,” Burr said.

“Gee, I wonder what gave you that idea,” Hamilton said sarcastically.

“Okay, listen Alexander,” Burr said, rising to his feet, Hamilton mimicking him. “Stop. Stop with the bravado and the bullshit, put it to rest. We work well together; I know you remember that.”

Hamilton didn’t respond.

“I wanted to make amends, to see if there was any way we could try again, open our own firm.”

“I’d rather get fucked with a rake than work with you.”

Laf spit out their soda, trying to hold it together.

“It’s nice to know that you can’t even be decent anymore. Should’ve known you’d turn out this way. You were too young when you started, too impressionable.”

“Don’t fucking tell me I’m too young,” he warned, voice rising.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did that offend you? I’ll be sure to publish a pamphlet about it later, don’t worry.”

“It’s not my fault you’re still broken up about the pamphlet. We were friends, but I did the right thing, I spoke my mind,” Hamilton said proudly.

“That’s going to get you into a lot of trouble one day, Alexander.”

“I welcome it.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” Burr said, voice low. “Well, I guess I’ll leave you all to your food. Lafayette, thank you for a lovely dinner.”

“You’re welcome, Aaron,” Laf said.

“Wait, Burr! Before you go!” Hamilton called out after him.

Burr turned on his heel, exasperated. “What, Hamilton?”

“Did you really come here to make amends?”

“Yes, I did. But clearly you’re unwilling so I’m sorry I tried.”

“Yeah, me too. This was pathetic,” Hamilton taunted.

“Fuck you, Hamilton.”

“No thanks, Burr. I’m out of your league.”

“You’re right, you’re below it.”

“That’s not what Theodosia said.”

The room fell silent as Burr tilted his head. “Excuse me?”

“I fucked your girlfriend,” Hamilton yelled, face tuned up into a smug smile. “Freshman year. Pi Kappa Alpha. St. Patrick’s Day party. Ask her about it, I’m sure she remembers.”

Burr locked his jaw, ready to punch Hamilton square in the face, but took a deep breath and left the apartment. “Go to hell, Hamilton,” he called out before the door shut.

Hamilton sighed, another argument against Burr flawlessly won. The man was too easy to humiliate. He looked at Lafayette, who was covering their mouth with their hand in pure shock, then to Mulligan in the doorway, plate in his hand and mouth open.

“Goddamn, kid.”

Lafayette frowned. “I was so hoping it would work out. Burr is a nice man.”

The three of them stood silent, chewing on what had just happened.

“Well I’m going the fuck to bed,” Hamilton said. “We’ll figure out what to do about the Laurens boy in the morning.”

Lafayette and Mulligan called out their good-nights and sat alone at the table, murmuring softly to one another.

 

 

 

 

 

“We’ve got a plan,” Mulligan said the next day as Hamilton stumbled out of their room for breakfast.

“For what?”

“To get John Laurens to talk.”

Hamilton pulled his hair back into a messy bun and rubbed his face, “How?”

“Remember what Burr was saying last night?”

“Probably something stupid.”

“No, something smart. Really, really smart. He said to get the client comfortable, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“So,” Mulligan said. “We bring Laf.”

Hamilton knitted his brows. “What would Laf do?”

“He was interested, remember? He wanted to learn about their genderqueer-ness. It was the first time I saw any emotion at all on his face.”

“He could have been disgusted with it. You do remember who his father was, right?”

“I don’t think it’s the same situation.”

“And what if it is?” Hamilton asked, pouring a bowl of cereal. “What if he just wants to murder Laf too?”

“He’s not gonna do that,” Mulligan said.

“You don’t know that. I’m not jeopardizing Lafayette, end of story.”

“You don’t actually have a choice. They’ve already agreed to come, they’re putting on makeup right now.”

“You two are unbelievable, you know that?”

“Like we’re any worse than you,” Mulligan said. “You have 15 minutes before we leave for the prison.”

It actually took them upwards of 30 minutes by the time Lafayette was done with their makeup, but they still got there in time to visit with the Laurens boy.

They entered their usual visitation room first, Lafayette pulling up and extra chair between Hamilton and Mulligan.

“For the record, I am completely against this,” Hamilton said.

“For the record, you’ve said this a million times,” Lafayette rolled their eyes. “Please find some chill.”

“Agreed,” Mulligan said. “Laf never went to law school, which means they still have a soul. They’ll be a breath of fresh air.”

“It’s not Laf I don’t trust—“ Hamilton started.

Right then the door opened, a guard came in, then John, then another guard. Hamilton made the usual gesture for the guards to leave them alone, and John took a seat in front of them, eyeing Lafayette wearily.

“Mister Laurens, this is Lafayette, our secretary we were telling you about. They’re interested in sitting in on some cases, so we thought we’d let them in on this one. Is that alright?”

“Yeah,” John put out his hand. Mulligan and Hamilton gaped while Lafayette shook it casually. The boy hadn’t said more than five words to them at a time, but he was willing to shake Lafayette’s hand from the start. Unbelievable.

“Take it away, Laf,” Mulligan said.

“Actually,” Lafayette interrupted. “I’d like to do this one alone, please.”

“No,” Hamilton said immediately, not worrying about if he offended the client. “Absolutely not.”

“Goodbye, Alexander,” Laf said, gesturing got Mulligan to get him out of the room.

“Got it,” Mulligan said. “We’ll be outside.”

“Like hell we will—“ Hamilton was cut off by Mulligan literally forcing him out of his seat and out the door.

When the door closed behind him, Hamilton was livid. “What the fuck was that?” He practically shrieked.

“It was me trusting Lafayette.”

“Laf isn’t the best judge of character, dipshit. They're friends with us.”

“I trust them, sometimes more than I trust myself. Besides, if they scream we’ll hear it from out here and we can help.”

“Not if it’s too late,” Hamilton hissed.

“We have to trust them on this.”

“I don’t understand wh—“

“Just trust them. I promise they won’t let you down.”

 

 

 

 

 

Lafayette sat across from John Laurens, the boy whose picture had been running across news screens since a few days ago. He looked different under the florescent lights of the room, less painted, more real, and much, much sadder.

Maybe sad wasn’t the correct word for it. Empty, maybe. He seemed hurt, like he needed a hug. Lafayette reminded themself that hugging him would definitely be weird, so they stayed right where they were.

“So, John,” they said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’ve heard about you, too,” he said, looking at Lafayette’s eyes.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, your buddies talked about you.”

“Something good, I hope.”

“Yeah, it was good.”

“Well is there something you’d like to talk about?” Laf said, eyeing the boy in front of them carefully.

“I thought you were supposed to ask me questions,” John said.

“Oh, right.”

John tilted his mouth in something that vaguely resembled a smile, and Lafayette felt the room practically brighten with it.

“What’s your favorite food?”

“I’m pretty sure this isn’t how this is supposed to go.”

“I couldn’t care less, frankly. I’m not the lawyer here. Now answer the question. Mine is crepes.”

“Pasta, I guess.”

“How very Italian of you. Are you Italian?”

“I’m Puerto Rican. Well, half. Half white.”

“You’ve got lovely skin.”

“Um, thanks I guess.”

Lafayette smiled. “I’m sorry, I’m not good with compliments. Hercules tells me I get too personal with people too quickly.”

John gave that half smile again, and Lafayette continued. “Do you have any pets?”

“No.”

“Do you want pets?”

“Not really. Maybe a dog.”

“Ugh, you’re a dog person,” Laf feigned disgust. “I’m afraid this conversation is over,” they started to gather their things and halfway rise out of their seat.

That earned a full smile from John, and man could this kid brighten up a room. It was foreign, like he had obviously not smiled in a while. Understandable, given the circumstances.

“Anyway,” Laf said. “I feel like we should get to the real questions.”

“Okay,” John said.

“Alright, how real are you wanting to get? Like on a scale of a kitty pool to the Mariana Trench, how deep are we going?”

“Whatever you think.”

“I’ll just ask you some things and you tell me if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Tell you what,” John said suddenly, leaning up in his seat. “I’ll answer every question if you’ll answer a question after them.”

“Deal,” Laf grinned. “First, how was your relationship with your father?”

“It was shit. My turn: Why are you wearing makeup?”

“Because I need my eyeliner to be sharp enough to cut a bitch, that’s why. Next question: Why was your relationship bad?”

John’s face fell, clearly not wanting to talk about this. “He didn’t like who I was—am. He just never really liked me. Were you born a boy?”

“I was definitely born with a penis, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Okay.”

“What was it about you that your dad didn’t like?” Lafayette asked.

“Everything, I think. Nothing I did was ever really good enough for him. When did you start,” he gestured vaguely, “all this?”

“Around age 19 when I left France. Give me a specific example of something your father didn’t like.”

“Well, he always pressured me to get more involved in school, so I did. I got to be president of the Art Club on campus.”

“Congratulations, that’s great,” Laf smiled.

“Thanks,” John almost blushed. “But, uh, he thought art was too girly for boys to be in, so he made me get out and give the position away.”

“I’m very sorry. Did you love art?”

“I did—I do. I haven’t drawn anything in a long time, though. My turn: are you gay or… something?” John almost mumbled the last part.

“Depending on how you look at it, I suppose. I’m interested in men. How about you?”

John locked his jaw, breaking eye contact. “Yeah,” he said, voice almost a whisper.

“Yeah you’re interested in men?” Laf asked.

“Yes.” John dared look back up at Laf, who was sitting there like he hadn’t just told him the biggest secret of his life, the one thing he was most ashamed about in the world.

“It’s your turn. You have a question for me?”

John blinked. “Do you think it’s wrong?” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly very flushed.

“Of course I don’t.”

They sat across from each other, John feeling his heart beat in his throat and Laf studying him intently.

“Do you?” They finally asked.

“I don’t… I don’t know. You don’t scare me, I don’t think you’re wrong, I think you’re interesting. But, I don’t know, I just… I don’t know.”

“You just don’t like being gay yourself?”

John stopped cold, not expecting to ever hear those words out loud. He’d always been too scared to associate that word with himself, even in his mind.

“Look, John, I’m going to give you a little speech, is that alright?”

John nodded numbly.

“I don’t know what it is you’ve been told, or what it is that you grew up thinking, but—now look me in the eyes for this—there is nothing wrong with you. I know you didn’t choose to be like this, and I’m begging you not to be ashamed.” There’s nothing wrong with liking boys,” Laf reached across the table and grabbed the hand of the boy with tears in his eyes. “There is nothing wrong with you, you understand?”

 

 

_“Shit’s fucked up,” Ben said, idly stroking John’s hair as he rested his head against his shoulder._

_“That’s what I’m saying,” John laughed. “If you go into an empty hotel room and see a naked lady, you need to run like hell, not try to get it in with her.”_

_They were watching The Shining, neither of them had seen before and it was around Halloween so it was playing on cable. So far it was just weird, Jack Nicholson always gave John the heebie-jeebies._

_“That’s the same lady that tried to strangle his son?” Ben asked._

_“I dunno, I guess so,” John answered, looking up at Ben instead of the movie._

_Ben Tallmadge was President of Student Council, a volunteer at the Graham Windham Orphanage, Homecoming King, and an all-around great human being. John still wasn’t exactly sure why he’d want to spend his time around him, but he was thankful he did. He liked his company._

_‘Liking his company’ may be an understatement as they had just spent 45 minutes making out (among other things) in John’s bed. He had been coming over a lot recently, just to ‘hang out’ or have a sleepover, and no one really questioned it._

_“They need to get the fuck out of that hotel,” Ben remarked._

_“Maybe that one guy will actually come up there and help them,” John offered._

_“Maybe. Hopefully. And hopefully crazy-eyes over there won’t kill him for it.” They both chuckled._

_The movie cut to commercial break, which Ben muted the TV for, leaving the two boys alone with their thoughts._

_“Thanks for inviting me over,” he finally said. “I’m having a really good time.”_

_“Yeah,” John said, trying to keep from smiling like an idiot. “You’re alright.”_

_“Just alright, huh?”_

_“Meh.”_

_“You seemed to think I was more than just ‘alright’ about an hour ago.”_

_John grinned. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”_

_“Either I’m better than just alright or you’re a great actor.”_

_“Don’t let it go to your head, babe,” John said playfully._

_Ben smiled, then slowly tilted his head and moved in for a kiss, which John gladly accepted. It started as a small thing, then they pressed their foreheads together, smiled, and went back in for another kiss. Then another, and another until it all blurred together and it was just Ben’s lips moving against his, tongues clashing in each other’s mouths._

_John grabbed Ben’s jaw and decided to move, to straddle him so he could get a better angle. Ben rested his hands on his hips, John started to grind down on him. Ben moaned in a beautiful, restless way that just begged for more._

_By the time Ben had fought John’s tight overshirt off his slim torso, they had completely forgotten about the movie and lost track of time. They were so invested in each other that they never heard the front door open, never heard the sound of Henry Laurens coming into the living room and stopping dead in his tracks._

_Ben noticed him first, standing still in the doorway, not saying a word. Just watching._

_Ben’s eyes shot open, and frantically pulled John off of him, but it was too late. John was still dazed, eyes glazed over and totally confused as to why Ben had pulled him off, then he followed Ben’s gaze to the doorway, to his father._

_He stood there, calm, and for a minute John was sure he was going to try to kill them. “Dad, I—It’s not—I don’t thi—“_

_“Leave my home, Tallmadge. I’ll call your parents later,” he said, eyes focused on John._

_Ben, scared out of his mind, not knowing what to do, agreed and left the room as fast as he could, stopping only for a second to look back at John, who gestured for him to leave. Whatever was about to happen, he didn’t want Ben to see it._

_Once the door closed, Henry Laurens moved to John in three long strides, grabbing him by his arm and twisting it behind him. “The fuck did I just walk in on?” He hissed through clenched teeth._

_“Nothing, Dad. Nothing. We were watching a movie and—“_

_“So you took off your shirt and crawled into the boy’s lap for fun?”_

_“No, I—I just,” John looked around the room helplessly. “God,” he finally whispered. “I’m so sorry,” tears started to well up in his eyes as his father clenched his grip even tighter, his heart beat was loud and heavy in his ears. “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to do this I didn’t mean for this to happen I just—“_

_Henry cut him off. “I’ve heard enough.”_

_He slapped him across the face, blurring John’s vision, knees weak with shock. He hit him again, this time harder, then put his hand on his throat._

_“Come upstairs.”_

_And just like that he let go, let John follow him upstairs and into the bathroom. Henry took his tie off and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt, getting comfortable, then started to fill up the bathtub._

_John knew better than to run, he knew a 14-year-old boy couldn’t make it on the street, especially if he bore any resemblance to Henry Laurens. So, he stood still, watching his father, his father watching back._

_He didn’t ask what was about to happen, he didn’t want to know. He just wanted it to be over because his blood was on fire and the bathroom was too hot and he felt sick and the walls were fucking caving in. He felt like he needed to go home even though he was in his own house. Home for him wasn’t here, it wasn’t anywhere near this bathroom with the walls made of dread and the air thick with fear._

_Finally, his father reached over and turned the bathtub faucet off. When he spoke, it startled John._

_“There’s something wrong with you, boy. You’re sick.”_

_John just dropped his head, fighting tears._

_“Know what it is? Baptism gone wrong. That holy water fell right off your head and never did it’s job. Figure if I fill your lungs with it, maybe you’ll understand.”_

_John blinked, his words not registering._

_“I don’t want to do this. You understand that, right?”_

_No, he didn’t understand. He had no idea what has happening until Henry grabbed him by the nape of his neck and held him under the water._

_There was the initial shock, the moment of ‘oh shit I can’t breathe Jesus Christ where’s the air’, then there was the realization that he couldn’t breathe because his father was holding him underwater. Drowning isn’t how he thought it was. The water was just deep enough for his face to fit under, and as soon as he registered what was happening he struggled, kicked and gasped for breath, only taking in more water._

_John didn’t remember his first baptism, but he remembers the second one. The one that put water in his lungs and clouded his brain. He remembers the baptism that his father gave him, tears streaming down his face as he held his eldest son underwater till he stopped kicking._

 

 

 

 

 

The conversation with Lafayette had been a Godsend. They got so much more information out of the kid, got him to talk about himself and his siblings without shutting down. They learned about Henry Laurens, about his mother and their relationship. Lafayette, bless their heart, was a precious little thing. They promised to show up every time after that, and sneak in some homemade crepes for John to try.

When Lafayette gave the boys a run-down of what happened, both went to work immediately.

“This is fantastic,” Mulligan said. “Not the beating, of course. Well—kind of. But now we have some grounds as to why this happened. Self defense, we’ll call it.”

“It won’t be hard to sell, everyone knows what a piece of shit Henry Laurens was,” Hamilton said, pacing the room.

“The man’s reputation alone will be enough to spark some sympathy for his son, there’s no doubt,” Mulligan agreed.

“Can you imagine if we pull this off? If we make this work? We’ll never have to worry about if we have a job because they’ll be pouring in. You know this trial is going to be televised, we’re going to be everywhere.”

“Boys, you don’t understand,” Lafayette warned.

“I think we do, Laf,” Mulligan said. “This is it. This is the case we needed.”

“It’ll be like OJ gone right,” Hamilton laughed. “We’re the fucking dream team. We couldn’t have done it without our dear sweet Lafayette, of course.”

“Of course. When we do our post trial interviews, you should come along,” Mulligan said.

“It’ll be great, Laf. Imagine it.”

“Financial security. Good reputation. We’ll have it all.”

“This case, it’s going to blow everyone away. It’s a home run. I’ve been drafting opening statements in my head all day. It’ll be incredible, trust me.”

“Alex,” Lafayette tried.

“Seriously, Laf. Thank you so much,” Hamilton kept pacing, running a hand through his too-long-for-a-lawyer hair. “This case is gonna be it. It’s a slam dunk. I can’t believe it. This kid is our ticket—“

“He tried to drown him, you know that?”

The room fell silent, Mulligan popping his head up from his laptop and Hamilton stopping dead in his tracks.

“What?”

“His father caught him kissing a boy, and tried to drown him in a bathtub. Deprived his brain of oxygen, he was in the hospital for almost a month under an alias so no one knew about it. He’s lucky not to have permanent brain damage.”

Silence. Hamilton felt his jaw open, then shut. Mulligan rubbed the back of his neck.

Lafayette went on. “This isn’t exploitable. You can’t use anything he hasn’t consented to, you understand that right? He’s not your fucking ‘slam dunk’ case, he’s a person.”

“Laf, we weren’t trying to—“ Mulligan started.

“No you weren’t _trying_ at all, you went straight to work. Dehumanizing the poor thing. This, this is exactly who I hoped you two would never become.”

“We didn’t know.” Hamilton tried.

“No, you didn’t _care_. Well I do, I care a lot,” their chin started to quiver. “And I’m so, so disappointed in you. I thought you were better than this.”

And with that, Lafayette grabbed a coat and walked out of their front door, tears starting to stream down their face.

“Jesus,” Hamilton whispered, not looking at Mulligan.

“I think we fucked up.”

Hamilton just stood there, silent.

Mulligan sighed. “I’m gonna go look for Laf.”

“Alright.”

Later, when Mulligan found Lafayette alone in the park and brought them back to the apartment, they went straight to their room, not bothering to look at either one of the two lawyers standing pathetically at the entryway.

The trial starts in two weeks. They had two weeks to get their shit together, and yet they couldn’t even keep their receptionist on their side.

 

 

 

 

 

Mulligan and Hamilton got up extra early the next morning to make crepes.

They were Laf’s favorite, and they figured it was the least either of them could do to restore Lafayette’s faith in them, even a little. Both of them had been awake since 6:30, running to the store for the freshest ingredients and making crepe after crepe until they made a few decent ones.

Laf woke up at around 9:00 to Hamilton and Mulligan standing in the kitchen, both wearing hideous aprons, covered in flower and god knows what else, and holding a plate of undercooked crepes like it was a fucking trophy.

They decided to hear the boys out.

“Laf,” Mulligan explained, topping off a crepe with some very unwelcome chocolate drizzle. “We didn’t mean to be like that last night.”

“We care about the Laurens boy, we really do.”

“John. His name is John,” Laf corrected.

“John. Right. We care about him. We want him to get out of this as soon as he can, we want what’s best for him,” Mulligan explained.

“It just so happens that what’s best for him is also what’s best for us, so it’s a win-win.”

“Anyway, we both just wanted to apologize. Whether you still want to help us is fully up to you, we just want our Laf back.”

Lafayette put down their fork and looked at their boys. They were pathetic, filthy from their first attempt at making crepes and tired as hell from being up all morning.

“These crepes were terrible,” they said, pushing the plate back. “But I accept the apology, and I want to help John, but I’m not convinced you do. You’re lawyers, you’re programmed to be heartless like this. I wasn’t. I care about this boy and I’m going to be with him every step of the way, making sure you two don’t pull shit like last night again. He deserves that much.”

“Okay,” Hamilton said.

“I’m not sure you’re forgiven, though.”

“We’ll give you time.”

“I don’t need time, I need convincing. Get it together. I’ll go put my hair back and throw on some clothes, you two get ready. We’re gonna go visit him today,” Laf said, pushing their chair out and turning to leave the kitchen.

“Wait!” Mulligan called after them.

“What?”

“Were the crepes really terrible?”

Laf’s heart grew two sizes too big as they shook their head. “They were perfect, boys.”

Hamilton and Mulligan exchanged an overjoyed high-five as Lafayette called from behind them, “And clean up my kitchen!”

 

 

 

 

 

They all came this time, Lafayette included, and were sitting in their usual place in front of John at the table.

John wasn’t actually sure how much Lafayette had told the two of them, and he didn’t really want to think about it. He just wanted this all to be over as soon as possible.

“So, John,” Hamilton said, shuffling some papers and looking across the table. “We’ve sort of reached an impasse here.”

“What do you mean?”

“He means that there’s very little we can do to help you at this point. Your court date is set, and I guarantee you the prosecution already have their case mostly wrapped up. We’re at a disadvantage,” Mulligan explained.

“Why’s that?” John asked.

“Because we can’t get the information we need, John. We need you to work with us.”

“It’s like this,” Lafayette explained. “They need every bit of information you’ve got. They’re not going to judge you for it or make you look bad, they’re lawyers. They’re legally obligated to do the opposite. Everything you told me is just as safe with them.”

“Okay,” John said, running a hand through his hair. “What do you want to know?”

Hamilton and Mulligan exchanged that look, the one they always do, and went for it.

“You definitely, 100%, absolutely killed your father, correct?” Mulligan asked.

“I did.”

“And you admitted to it on the 911 call, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Hamilton interrupted.

“Why what?”

“Why would you admit to it? Why not try to hide it? You had the money and resources to flee the country and burn the body.”

John winced. “I didn’t want to do that.”

“He’s not a killer, boys,” Laf interrupted. “He wasn’t trying to cover his tracks, he was trying to come to terms with what he’d done.”

“We need to hear it from him, Laf,” Mulligan said gently.

“I mean, yeah,” John said. “I don’t know. I just stood there for a while, and decided 911 was the next logical step.”

“Did you want to get incarcerated?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I figure I deserve it after all that.”

“No,” Hamilton interrupted. “You can’t think like that. He was beating you, was he not?”

John shifted in his seat. “Yeah."

“You were scared for your life, weren’t you?”

“I was.”

“Then it wasn’t your fault. You were defending yourself. You had to do it.”

“Did he ever hit your siblings?” Mulligan asked.

“Once.”

“What happened?”

“I saw him hit James. My brother.”

“Why did he do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me about it,” Laf said.

“I walked in on him wailing on James and I just kind of lost it. He was so scared. He was crying, sinking down against the wall and Dad just kept on yelling, kept on kicking.”

“What’d you do?”

“I stopped him.”

Hamilton opened his mouth to ask how, but promptly got his foot stomped on by Laf’s Doc Marten.

“What happened then?” They asked.

John looked up at Lafayette. “Nothing good,” his eyes were distant again. “But he never touched James again.”

“Was it worth it?” Mulligan asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Would James publicly talk about that?”

“I don’t know. He might want no part of me anymore, I really don’t know.”

“They haven’t come to visit?” Hamilton asked.

John laughed darkly. “I basically orphaned them, I’m sure they want no part of me.”

“You really think that?”

“I don’t know. I hope they don’t hate me, but from what I understand they’re with my aunt and uncle, and if that’s the case then they probably hate me by now.”

“They don’t like you?”

“God no.”

“Why not?”

John opened his mouth, a secret on his lips, then shut his mouth again. He looked up at Lafayette.

“Next question,” Lafayette spoke for him.

“Laf, we need as much information on the family as we can get.”

“Next. Question.” Lafayette locked their jaw, turning to Hamilton, daring him to say something else. John wasn’t coming out to them until he was ready.

“Alright,” he finally gave in. “Next question.”

“Let’s talk about your mother,” Mulligan said.

John smiled, he hadn’t thought about his mother in a while. “What about her?”

“How was she?”

“She was great. She was full blooded Puerto Rican, she taught me Spanish when I was still real young,” he said. “She really liked interior design, she always liked redecorating and cleaning. Her hair was real curly, like mine, and she always wore it loose around her shoulders. She didn’t wear makeup unless she had to go to an event with Dad. When I was sad she’d sing to me, every grading period if I was on the honor roll she’d take me to get ice cream.”

“You loved her,” Laf said.

“Still do,” He smiled sadly. “I still love her.”

Mulligan, Lafayette, and Hamilton all sat quietly, everyone knew where the conversation was headed but no one wanted to be the one to bring it up. Finally, John broke the silence.

“You want to ask about her death.”

“Yes,” Mulligan replied.

“Everything that you can give, we’d like to know,” Hamilton said.

“I was young, and everyone kept asking me if I understood what was happening because I just didn’t react. Dad came out and said mom wasn’t coming home, and we all knew what that meant. He went back inside her room and just bawled for an hour, maybe longer. He was holding her and crying, we could hear it from outside.”

“Was he good to her?”

“He had a temper, but he loved her. He didn’t _really_ turn into a dick until after she died.”

“So that’s how it was for him, how was it for you?”

 

 

 

_He could hear his father crying from the hallway._

_It’s always strange, hearing a parent cry. It’s unnerving. John wasn’t sure why he wasn’t crying, but he wasn’t. He was just sitting, looking through the slit in the doorway at the shape of his father holding his mother and crying, brushing her hair back._

_It didn’t really hit him until his maid Adrienne came to get him. Walking out of the hospital, it dawned on him. His mother wasn’t coming home. She’s here, and she’s staying here. It felt like the hospital was stealing her, like they were holding on to her and wouldn’t give her back._

_He started sobbing, tearing his arm away from Adrienne as she tried to lead him out the door. John wasn’t going to leave his mother here. Not here with the shiny floors and the white walls and the sterile air and the scratchy sheets. Not here, not anywhere._

_That was his mother dead in there._

_That was his mother, and he wasn’t ready to leave her._

 

 

 

“It sucked,” John said.

“You know, Alexander knows how you feel,” Laf said, glancing at the man next to them. “He lost his mother at a young age too.”

“You did?” John asked, turning to him.

Hamilton sat with his jaw set, unreadably eyeing Lafayette. “Yes.”

“I’m not trying to compare, but if any of us know how you feel, it’s him.”

“But this isn’t about me,” Hamilton said, dismissing the topic. “How about the night of? What can you tell us?”

John took a breath and sat back in his chair. “What do you want to know?”

“Describe it. From the beginning.”

John described, to the best of his ability, the night he killed his father. He told them almost everything they asked for. They all agreed that he acted in self-defense, and that he shouldn’t be punished for saving his life.

It was nice to hear, but they weren’t the ones with the blood on their hands. They didn’t know, they couldn’t know what happened or how it felt. They were kind and clever and understanding but John was the killer here, not them. He was the one on trial, he was the one the nation turned against.

 

 

 

 

 

The next two weeks were a blur.

They visited everyday, spending hours at a time in their little visitation room, gathering everything they could and preparing John for the trial.

“The prosecution will be merciless,” Hamilton warned. “They’ll do everything they can to convince America you’re guilty, cold-blooded. They’re gonna want hard time, maybe even a death sentence, even though it's not legal here. We want a ‘not guilty’ verdict.”

“But I definitely killed my dad. There’s proof. I admitted to it.”

“No, you’re thinking of an ‘innocent’ verdict. You’ve admitted to the crime, you’re not innocent. You definitely killed the dude,” Mulligan explained. “We want to plead self-defense and get you a ‘not guilty’ verdict. Which means you’re not necessarily innocent, but you’re not a first degree murderer.”

“But we have a giant, gaping hole in our case. The prosecution will see right through it and attack through there,” Hamilton said.

“What’s the hole?” John asked.

“Why did your father attack you?”

“I already told you.”

“No, you were vague. We need the reason he was angry, what he was trying to accomplish by beating you.”

“He was drunk.”

“So he decided to try to kill you because he was drunk?” Mulligan asked.

“No,” John sighed. “We got into an argument.”

“About?”

John looked down at his hands. “There was a… a program on TV about gay teens. He called me in the living room to watch it. I ended up mouthing off, we argued about some other things, and he ended up throwing his whiskey bottle at me. That’s how it started.”

“What did you mouth off about?” Hamilton asked.

John looked at Lafayette for help, and they spoke up for him. “Next question, mon lion.”

Mulligan groaned in frustration, and Hamilton interrupted.

“Alright, I’ll cut the shit,” Hamilton said. “Laf told us about the time your father found you kissing a boy.”

John swallowed thickly, the room around him blurring. “Oh, okay.” He nodded. “Okay then.”

Laf stood up, eyeing Hamilton angrily, “Why would you bring that up?” They hissed. “He should have the right to come out when he’s ready.”

“There’s no use in lying to him, Laf,” Hamilton whispered back. “We know, and now there’s no secrets between us. Easy peasy.”

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” Laf asked.

“I’ve been told, but I have a case to win. If you’re going to get emotional, step outside and pull yourself together.”

Laf looked at John, “I’m very, very sorry John.”

“’s okay,” he replied.

Laf left the room, slamming the door behind them. Herc shifted in his seat, trying to continue taking notes.

“If you want to go after them, go. I can handle this,” Hamilton offered.

“Alright,” Mulligan said, getting up to leave the room. “We’ll be back soon. Hopefully. They’re just upset with themself. Also you. They’re very upset with you. You could’ve handled that better.”

“Definitely, but I didn’t. Go comfort them, I’m fine here.”

Mulligan exited without another word to John, leaving him alone with Hamilton.

“I could’ve brought that up more tactfully, huh?” He said.

John just looked up at him. 

“If it’s any consolation, I’m queer as a three-dollar bill.”

John snorted, the first real laugh he felt in days. The air around them suddenly felt much lighter. “Good to know.”

“I didn’t realize you coming out to us was a big deal, I genuinely didn’t,” he paused. “I’m sorry.”

“You already knew. Don’t apologize, it’s nice not to be lied to.”

“See? That’s what I thought,” Hamilton smiled.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Are… is something going on between--?”

“Not sure, actually. I think so, but I also thought Herc was exclusively into ladies, so I really don’t know.”

“Laf can be a lady.”

“Sometimes, yeah,” he smiled, a contagious thing that had John smiling for no reason back. “You’re alright for a kid, you know that?” Hamilton said.

“I’m, what, four years younger than you?” John laughed. “Fuck off.”

Hamilton mocked a gasp. “Don’t use that kind of language around me, young man.”

“Fuck the fuck off,” he said. “So how are you a lawyer so young, anyway?”

“Graduated high school at 16, fled the country, got a 2-year degree in pre-law and am working on my seven year masters.”

“Shit.”

“What?”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“It’s not so bad. I like to keep busy,” Hamilton said. “What about you? What are your plans?”

“Well, assuming I’m not in prison—“

“You won’t be.”

“Assuming that, I was going to be a marine biologist.”

“Yawn.”

“Yeah,” John laughed. “But I’m thinking about pursuing art.”

“You can draw?” Hamilton tilted his head.

“Fairly well.”

Hamilton slid a law pad and a pen across the table to him. “Draw me something.”

John raised his eyebrows. “This a challenge?”

“Just curious,” he mused.

John picked up the pen, scanned the room for anything interesting, then decided. “I’ll draw you.”

“You can’t.”

John put the pen down. “Why?    

“That pen isn’t dark enough to get the circles under my eyes right,” he laughed. “You’ll never do them justice.”

“You’re a lawyer, you supply the justice and I’ll supply the art.”

“Alright then. Just try not to let my beauty overwhelm you.”

John laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence as John sketched and Hamilton pecked away at his computer. He actually was kind of cute, dark hair and deep brown eyes. John sketched the way his hair was slickly pulled back from his face, the way his hooded eyes concentrated on the computer screen, the stubble on his chin. Turns out the dark circles only made a faint appearance on the yellow legal pad.

It was the eyes themselves that gave him the most problems. Hamilton’s eyes were kind, determined, and fierce. They alone were so expressive, and John just couldn’t capture it. He sighed as he added lines and shading to them, trying everything he could to get them right.\

When he glanced up, Hamilton was looking at him. They held eye contact for a moment before Hamilton broke it. John ignored the loud thumping in his chest and went back down to finish his sketch.

By the time Mulligan and Laf came back in, the two men were laughing and genuinely having a great time together. They noticed the sketch pad with the flawless drawing of Hamilton on it and decided not to comment on any of it.

Laf’s eyes softened as they took in the sight. Maybe leaving them alone wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

 

 

 

 

 

“So how was your time with our client?” Mulligan asked, pouring himself a cup of hot tea.

Hamilton kept writing on his laptop and didn’t look up. “Fine.”

“You two get along?” He crossed the open space to the couch Hamilton was sitting on, legs folded under him. Mulligan took the other end.

“I guess. I mean, he wasn’t mad about the gay thing.”

“Did you talk about it?”

“No, but he wasn’t mad.”

“Seemed like you two hit it off,” Mulligan said, tracing the rim of his mug with his finger and raising his eyebrows suggestively.

Hamilton glanced up. “First of all, you look like a freak when you do that. Second, yeah we got along fine. I just needed him to be comfortable with me.”

“That so?”

“Yup.”

“That was a pretty picture he drew.”

Hamilton laughed. “Yeah, he’s a good artist and I’m gorgeous, it works well together.

“Oh fuck off, you look like a Puerto Rican Rufus the fucking mole rat.”

“Because you’re totally a beauty queen.”

“Alright, point taken,” Mulligan steered the conversation back. “Like I said, you two sure were getting along.”

Hamilton finally looked up from his laptop. “We were.”

“Real well.”

“Uh huh.”

“Not a big age difference there, you know.”

“Herc, where are you going with this?”

“I saw some sparks,” he smiled just as Laf walked out of their room. “What do you think, Laf? You see any sparks between the two young ones?”

Laf smiled and walked towards them, shoving Mulligan’s feet over so they could curl up on the couch beside him. “Definitely.”

“Real chemistry there.”

“I agree completely.”

“You guys,” Hamilton interrupted. “He’s 17.”

“And you’re 21.”

“Still not legal.”

“He technically has no parents, and he’s 17. He’s an adult under New York law.”

“It’s legal,” Laf hummed.

“Just because it’s legal doesn’t mean I’m gonna date him, he’s still young. I’ve graduated college, he just finished high school like a month ago.”

Laf raised their eyebrows. “Defensive, are we, mon lion?”

“Fuck yourselves,” Hamilton said. “I’m working on opening statements, can’t I do that in peace?”

“Fine,” Laf said, stealing the TV remote from Mulligan’s lap and changing the TV to Say Yes to the Dress. Mulligan sighed and stroked their hair while Hamilton wrapped up his writing.

 

 

 

 

 

The next few weeks flew by.

They had been through every bit of prep they knew how to do, prepared John for the worst. For the first time since they had the case, everything was going according to plan and things were looking good for them. John had opened up, talked to them about what actually happened the night he killed his father. He told them about his home life and his relationships. Hamilton and Mulligan listened patiently, taking notes about what witnesses to call and what angles to take.

Laf began to trust the boys more and more. Once they started getting to know John, they started caring. Laf knew they would.

They learned the judge was going to be Judge George Washington, some guy they pulled out of Virginia so he’d be impartial. Still didn’t know anything about the prosecution, but they had selected the jury.

The jury was the problem.

“Why?” John asked.

“According to an inside source, it’s almost exclusively old white dudes,” Mulligan grumbled.

“Old white dudes are the worst,” John agreed.

Hamilton snorted. “Our odds aren’t pretty.”

“Never have been,” Lafayette interjected. “But you’ve always managed. You can do this.”

 

 

 

 

 

The night before the trial, John got no sleep.

He was exhausted, mentally and physically. He was filled with a dread deep in his stomach that just wouldn’t go away. He trusted his lawyers, but he had no idea how good they actually were. They were both cocky, what if they overstated their preparedness? What if they lose the case?

John couldn’t think about that, he couldn’t think about anything. He started reciting lines in his head, some classic poems he’s had time to memorize in prison. He’d read a poem about the charge of the Light Brigade during the Crimean War.

_“Forward, the Light Brigade!”_

_Was there a man dismayed?_

_Not though the soldier knew_

_Someone had blundered._

_Theirs not to make reply,_

_Theirs not to reason why,_

_Theirs but to do and die._

_Into the valley of Death_

_Rode the six hundred._

It wasn’t his place to make reply or reason why, it was his place to do and die. He understood that. He also understood that the Charge of the Light Brigade was a huge fucking failure in which a lot of people died for nothing.

He decided it was best to lay off the poetry for the night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“John Laurens,” the guard called the morning of the trial. “Your lawyers have brought you a change of clothes. Change, we’ll be back in five minutes.” They tossed the dress clothes in through the bars.

John changed into the suit Mulligan had made for him. He took his measurements about a week ago, and started making John his own specially tailored suit. It was nice, it made John feel good. He hadn’t worn anything but prison orange for a long time.

The guards showed back up in five minutes as they said, and escorted John straight outside into a black sedan where Hamilton and Mulligan were waiting.

“Looking sharp, kid,” Mulligan whistled. “What do you think, Alex?”

“Looks good,” he said, looking at the floor of the sedan.

“Thanks,” John breathed.

“You nervous, kid?” Mulligan asked.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t be,” Hamilton spoke up. “We’re not gonna let you down.”

“We’ve stayed up countless nights working for this case. We have every scenario planned out, we’ve got your back.”

“Thanks,” John said, then considered. “It dawned on me last night you haven’t told me about the witnesses.”

“We’re only calling a handful, and we purposefully haven’t told you. We want any reactions from you to be organic. This is going to be televised, remember that.”

“Oh shit,” John said. “No I didn’t realize that.”

“Put your hair back,” Hamilton said, pulling a black hair tie off his wrist.

“Right, thank you,” John took it and started working on his hair. "Where's Laf?" he wondered aloud.

"Courtroom, hopefully. Assuming they could get a seat," Hamilton said.

“Well boys, this is it. This is what it’s all been leading up to,” Mulligan reflected. “We’re about to tear this court a new asshole.”

Hamilton snorted. “Jesus Christ.”

“Call me Herc.”

The three men burst out into a much-welcome laughter.

 

 

 

 

 

John wasn’t prepared for the scene when they arrived.

The courthouse was crawling with press, and with people causally dispersed all around it, some even holding up signs claiming John’s innocence or calling him guilty. John gulped. “Holy shit.”

“It’s fine,” Hamilton said, acclimating quickly. “It’s going to be highly publicized, we knew that from the beginning. Just walk in with us and don’t speak to anyone.”

“Okay.”

The driver stopped the sedan and people immediately flocked around it. Hamilton whistled.

“What’s the plan, Ham?” Mulligan asked.

“First, don’t call me Ham. Then open the door and use your big ass self to make some room for John and I to step out, we’ll take it from there.”

John could hear the sound of people’s screams and chatter all even from inside the car. He was effectively terrified, not wanting to step out at all. At least in prison no one ambushed him like this.

_Cannon to right of them,_

_Cannon to left of them,_

_Cannon in front of them_

“On three,” Mulligan interrupted his thoughts. “One, two, thr—“ he opened the door and suddenly the roar of the crowd filled John’s ears.

_Volleyed and thundered;_

_Stormed at with shot and shell,_

_Boldly they rode and well,_

The walk up the courthouse steps was a blur, but he remembers Hamilton placing one hand on the small of his back and basically fighting his way through the crowd. The sounds of the crowd were almost enough to knock him over from sheer force alone. He wasn’t even sure if it was positive or negative shouting, but it was loud and unwelcome.

_Into the jaws of Death,_

_Into the mouth of hell_

_Rode the six hundred._

When they stepped into the courtroom, he breathed a sigh of relief and looked at Hamilton, who smiled back at him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nothing, not school, not God himself could have prepared Alex for this.

He was scared out of his mind, but John didn’t need to know that. When they finally got inside the building and away from the windows, Alex reached out to him and tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Scared?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Don’t be. You’re gonna be fine,” he assured.

When Mulligan caught up with them, they stopped John outside the courtroom doors, reminding him he needed to go to the back room where they’d hold him till it was time to bring him out. John, nervous as he was, smiled bravely at them both then walked with the policemen down the hall. Hamilton smiled sadly, Mulligan just nodded.

Hamilton and Mulligan faced each other, took a deep breath, then swung open the back doors of the courtroom in their usual, over the top fashion.

The three tiny rows of seats on each side of the room were filled with random civilians and a few witnesses waiting to be called. Lafayette couldn't make it in today, they noticed sadly. A single camera was set up in the back, no doubt ready to televise to every news station in TV. The two men passed right by the small audience and settled at their desk on their side of the courtroom.

The sat in silence, opening their briefcases and organizing files. Everything was fine until the back doors swung open a second time, and Hamilton heard in a very unwelcome, very familiar southern drawl, “Sorry we’re late, y’all.”

The man rushed by in a swirl of magenta, leaving a trail of sick cologne behind him. His partner followed, and Hamilton was almost rendered speechless. Almost.

“The fuck is this shit?” He whispered to Mulligan. They stood simultaneously to face their opponents.

“Thomas Jefferson and James Madison,” Mulligan said. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Wish we could say the same,” Jefferson smiled condescendingly.

“You’re the prosecution?” Hamilton laughed out loud. “Jesus Christ you must really be running low on those trust funds, huh boys?”

Madison smiled. “We’re not in it for the money, Alexander.”

“We’re here to get justice for Henry Laurens, may he rest in peace,” Jefferson crossed himself. Asshole wasn’t even Catholic.

“How noble,” Mulligan interjected.

“But also,” Jefferson leaned in, voice barely a whisper. “This is the new OJ case. We’re here for the fame, babe.”

“You do realize the defense won the OJ case,” Hamilton said, then added. “right babe?”

Jefferson raised his hands in defense, “Always ready for a fight, huh Alexander?”

“Only when I need to be.”

“Can we step outside for a moment, Alex? Is it okay if I call you Alex?”

“Yes, we can step outside. No, you can’t call me Alex.”

Jefferson stepped aside to let Hamilton walk by him, but Mulligan caught his forearm, giving him an unreadable look. He was uneasy, and ready to knock Jefferson out if he needed to.

Hamilton nodded silently. He was going to be fine. Mulligan let go of his arm and turned to face Madison, the two having a conversation of their own.

Jefferson smiled and led Hamilton outside the courtroom doors and into the empty hallway. “Long time no see, Alexander.”

“Yeah, it’s almost like I was purposefully not contacting you,” Hamilton said. “Weird, huh?”

“No need to get so defensive.”

“It’s literally my job.”

“Touché,” Jefferson responded. “But I didn’t bring you out in the hallway to argue.”

“Well that’s a shame, because that’s all you’re gonna get.”

“I just wanted to talk, catch up,” Jefferson said. “It’s been so long since you and me had a chat.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

Jefferson chuckled. “Alright, Alexander. I was just wondering if you remember Monticello. Thought maybe we could have a talk about it.”

Hamilton looked up at the man in front of him. “I was actually hoping to never think about it again, but thanks for reminding me.”

“Oh I’m sure you remember it well,” Jefferson whispered, hands finding their way to the familiar place on Hamilton’s hips. He glanced around the hallway to make sure no one was watching.

“Can’t say I do. You weren’t very memorable, sorry to hurt your ego.” Of course Hamilton remembered Monticello, it was one of the best weeks of his life. Jefferson didn’t need to know that.

“Uh-huh,” Jefferson leaned against the wall. “That’s why you screamed my name like a bitch in heat every night till you woke the neighbors up.”

“Oh fuck off, Jefferson,” he said, removing the man's hands from his hips.

“I’m sorry, Alexander. Just reminiscing, is all.”

“Well don’t.”

“Why not?” Jefferson purred, low and dangerous. “It’s not like you’re ashamed or anything, right?”

Hamilton set his jaw, looking Jefferson in the eyes. “I’m not ashamed of anything.”

Jefferson smiled, then leaned down to Hamilton. His entire demeanor changed. This was all dangerous, sly alley cat Jefferson. The one that could smile and take a kidney from you all in one go. "You know the worst part about fighting someone you've been in love with?" He asked, voice deceptively sincere. "It's that you have all the ammunition in the world to take them down, but you just can't seem to use it."

"I'm not trying to bring you down, I'm trying to defend John Laurens, take your ego somewhere else."

"You're genuinely stuck on this innocent plea, huh?" Jefferson asked, amusement dripping from his voice.

"He is innocent, you'll realize that soon enough. Not sure where you're gonna go from there, but I'm sure you'll find a way."

"Always do."

Just then an elderly couple stepped outside of the courtroom, and looked over at Hamilton and Jefferson. Probably wondering what they're so worked up about and why they're two inches away from each other.

"See you in the courtroom, Mister Jefferson," Hamilton reached out and shook the man's hand, then walked straight past the couple and back into the courtroom.

“What happened?” Mulligan asked when he came back to sit down.

Hamilton just shook his head, uselessly straightening the papers on the desk in front of him.

Mulligan breathed deeply, remaining calm. “I’m gonna rip that dude apart one day.”

“Not today. Today John’s the one on trial. Wait your turn.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

When they brought John out from the back room, Hamilton breathed a sigh of relief.

He wasn’t actually sure why, but he did. He was happy to have him by his side, happy to know he was okay.

Hamilton pulled out his chair for him and offered him a drink of his water, which he gladly took. He glanced over at Jefferson who was looking at them, eyebrows raised. He resisted the urge to throw his briefcase at him.

“All rise for the honorable Judge Washington,” the bailiff called to the court.

Everyone stood as a tall man in a black robe approached the stand. Hamilton’s heart sped up as the judge instructed everyone to sit down.

“Is the defense ready?”

“Yes sir,” Mulligan answered.

“Is the state ready?”

“Yes sir,” Jefferson called.

“Let’s bring the jury in,” Judge Washington said. “All rise.”

The courtroom sprang to it’s feet as 12 people walked in, eight of which were definitely old white guys, just as Mulligan had said. “Jury of your peers my ass,” Hamilton grumbled to John.

When they sat, Washington continued his routine.

“Does the state recognize the presence of the jury?”

“We do,” Madison answered.

“And does the defense?”

“We do,” Hamilton answered.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Washington said, running over the procedures. He reminded the jury about the privacy laws, note taking, and ran through the usual motions of trying a case. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you have been selected to try the case of the state of The People v. John Laurens. The defendant is charged with first degree murder and aggravated assault. Does the state care to make an opening statement at this time?”

“We do, your honor,” Jefferson called standing up.

“Showtime,” Hamilton whispered, leaning up in his seat.

This was going to be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I may have stayed up all night listening to scary ass 911 calls from murderers (no shit, they're real) and watching the Casey Anthony trial for research. Author regrets everything. 
> 
> Credit to the lovely mayaschuyler for coming up with the skeleton for this gorgeous prompt and being gracious enough to let me work through it how I want.
> 
> Next chapter will (hopefully) include: sassy sass masters sassing each other, more semi-obscure literature references, witness testimonies, and fUCKING PLOT TWISTS. heh
> 
> Please comment and let me know how you feel about this! Comments and kudos make me squeal like a Little Girl™ so please make my week and leave me something! Thanks for reading!


	2. The Abyss

“Ladies and gentlemen, one question will arise more than any other during the course of this trial. The question being: is there any situation in which murder can be forgiven? The answer is up to you. That’s your job here today. To interpret how the law fits in with this case.

“So, what is the law? According to the New York Penal Code, first degree murder is an A-I felony, no matter the circumstances. And the circumstances? Here’s what we know: John Laurens’ name was redacted from his father’s will in the spring of 2014, and was added back in around the summer of 2016, which is, coincidentally, when Henry Laurens was murdered. As the oldest surviving member of the Laurens’ family, John would be given inheritance in full: all 4 million dollars, not including Henry Laurens’ earthly possessions, which, if included, would bring the total to around 6.2 million dollars.

“6.2 _million_ ,” Jefferson whistled. “That’s a lot of money, and, in turn, a lot of motivation. Murders have motives. Is it a coincidence that Henry Laurens was killed just weeks after adding his son’s name back into his will? I don’t know about you, ladies and gentlemen, but I don’t believe in coincidence. Not when it comes to murder.

“During the course of this trial the defense will try to trick you. They’ll say it was Henry Laurens that initiated the fight and had the upper hand until the very end. But, that doesn’t make sense now, does it? Henry Laurens was almost 50 years old and overweight. How would he win a fight against a lean, muscular 17-year-old? The blood of the defendant is in that crime scene because Henry Laurens fought back. He _had_ to fight back. He didn’t have a choice. The defendant is young, but he’s fast. He’s clever. He’s got the mind of a _murderer_ ,” Jefferson hissed. “He knew exactly what to do, exactly how to fight this fight and come out on top. This wasn’t some brawl; this was a meticulous plan executed with brutality.

“The fact is, Henry Laurens could’ve just as easily pulled that gun out of the cabinet and shot his son, but he didn’t. A parent wants their child to be safe, they want their child to have a chance in the world. They could never do anything to hurt their child. Any parent in the room can attest to this. Henry Laurens defended himself, but, in the end, couldn’t muster the strength to win the fight. They both knew only one person was getting out of there alive.

"Even _if_ by some stroke of dumb luck the defense manages to convince you Henry ever for a second abused his child, keep this in mind. It's a piece by the German philosopher Nietzsche. He can articulate this situation with much more grace than I can,” he said. “Loosely translated, it is: Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into the abyss,” Jefferson looked up at the jury. “The abyss also gazes into you.”

“This bitch,” Hamilton mumbled under his breath, earning an elbow in the ribs from Mulligan.

“In short, ladies and gentlemen, on July 11th, John Laurens gazed into the abyss,” Jefferson finished. “What happens next is for you to decide.”

“Thank you, Mister Jefferson. Would the defense like to make an opening statement at this time? Washington called.

“Yes, your honor,” Hamilton replied, standing and buttoning his jacket before strutting to Jefferson’s old spot in front of the jury.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, bear with me. I find myself astonished at the succinctness of the state’s opening testimony. I don’t believe I’ve ever Mister Jefferson so,” Hamilton glanced over at the man in question. “Short winded. It is, however, understandable that the state not have much to say, as the facts and forensics in this case are actively working against them. If I was in the position they find themselves in, I don’t believe I’d have a lot to say either.” Jefferson just crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, grinning smugly. The bastard.

“Let’s talk about three things here: the past, the present, and the future. I’ll kick this off with some statements about the past. If you’ve turned on Fox News at any point during the last decade or so, you’ve probably seen Henry Laurens. He was by far the most popular guest speaker on _any_ news show. Every time he had a spot on one of those programs, the ratings skyrocketed. Everyone wanted to know what he was going to do next.

“That being said, it’s easy to see that Henry Laurens was outspoken and very, very passionate. He’d out scream liberals till he was red in the face. A few notable outbursts of his have even gone viral. His temper always shadowed his politics, but never fully covered them. You could see hints of it, but never the whole thing.

“Where else could you see examples of Henry Laurens’ foul temper? On his eldest son.” Hamilton paused. “It would be subtle: a black eye here, a bruise there, a few scars. There would be excuses: ‘I got into a fight.’ ‘It was a skateboarding accident.’ ‘I slipped in the shower.’ But, behind these excuses, there was something very, very wrong behind the doors of the Laurens household. Something they kept locked away. Something they dared not speak about.

“This is our past. This is what we know of this young man’s life. We know his mother died when he was eight, he was mistreated by his father, and, instead of living like a normal teenager, he became a support structure for his siblings. When his father was lost behind a bottle, John was tucking in his sisters and brothers. When his father was sitting behind a desk arguing about politics, John was sitting behind a school desk struggling to keep up. While his father was on the news voicing his opinions, John was putting concealer over his scars and bruises so his teachers wouldn’t notice.  

“This brings us to the present. Why are we here today? Are we here to dissect the law and bombard you with penal code specifics? No, as Mister Jefferson said, we’re here to decide how the law fits into this specific case. Simply put, we are here to decide if John Laurens had the right to defend himself when his life was in danger.”

The differences between Hamilton and Jefferson were glaring. Jefferson was calm, quiet, reserved. Hamilton was loud and energetic, delivering his opening statements as if it were a monologue in a play.

“So, right now, what do we have? We have a seventeen-year-old boy on trial for the murder of his father. We have four lawyers working around the clock both for and against his freedom. We have the most very basic understanding of what happened July 11th, 2016.  Right now, your job is to take in all the evidence, listen to every _word_ , every _story_ , every bit of information provided. What happens once you have all that information is completely up to you. As a lawyer, the most I can do is present you with the facts. That is what I plan to do, nothing more, nothing less.

“Now, let’s talk about the future. What happens after this? There are two outcomes: you can decide the defendant is guilty or not guilty. If he’s found guilty, this is the end of the line for him. No, there’s no death penalty in New York, but he’s in prison for life for what he did. For defending himself. Simply put, in the event of a guilty verdict, the justice system would fail the defendant. If he’s found not-guilty, he finally gets a chance. A chance to live outside of his father’s hell, away from the skeleton filled closets of the Laurens household.

“Still, something about this whole story doesn’t quite add up, does it? Why would a seventeen-year-old boy, who showed no previous signs of violence, take the life of his own father? It doesn’t make sense. He’s perfectly sane. He admitted to his crimes over the phone to the 911 operator. He willingly went to prison for his actions. Is that something a cold-blooded killer does?

“By the end of this trial, demons will start to take shape, and they will paint you a very clear picture of exactly what drove John Laurens to murder his own father. As a jury, it is your civic duty to examine that painting till it makes sense, and I trust you’ll make the right decision.” Alex finished, stepping away from the jury and back into his seat. Mulligan reached and gave him a comforting squeeze on the shoulder.

 “Thank you, Mr. Hamilton. Would the state like to call their first witness at this time?” Washington asked.

“We would, your honor,” Jefferson spoke up. “The state calls Charles Lee to the stand.”

“Son of a bitch,” Mulligan swore under his breath. “Boom. Right out the gate.”

Alex shushed him. “We’re prepared. We have the screenshots.”

John, exactly as he was instructed, didn’t say a word, just kept looking forward.

A skinny teenager walked in, glanced at John, then went over the procedures with the bailiff.

Jefferson approached the witness stand. “Will you please identify yourself to the court?”

“My name is Charles Lee,” he said.

“And what high school did you attend?” Jefferson asked.

“Washington Irving High School in Manhattan.”

“And you graduated the same year as one John Laurens, did you not?”

“I did.”

“Did you run in the same circles?”

“No,” Lee scoffed. “Not at all.”

“Why not?”

“I did debate team and student council. He was never really involved except he was in debate for like a week before he got kicked out.”

“Hmm,” Jefferson mused. “And why did he get kicked out of debate team?”

“Fighting.”

Alex glanced over at the jury, who were taking notes and mumbling to one another. They were eating Lee’s testimony up. He just rolled his eyes.

“Fighting,” Jefferson repeated. “That’s funny, because I recall that, in the defense’s opening statements, he mentioned John had no past history of violence.”

“Well it ended up not going on his permanent record,” Lee offered.

“And why is that?” Jefferson asked.

“Probably because of who his dad is, I don’t know.”

“Do you believe the defendant enjoyed certain privileges because of his father?”

“Definitely.”

“With whom did he fight?”

“Me. He fought me.”

“And I understand you’ve brought pictures of the aftermath of it with you?”

“I have,” Lee confirmed.

“We’ve already uploaded them,” Jefferson turned to the jury. “They should already be in a file on your computer screens.”

Mulligan, along with the jury, pulled up the picture. It was a few pictures of Lee’s injury’s from the fight. He had a split lip, broken nose, and black eye.

“ _Damn_ kid,” Alex whispered to John, covering his mouth with a folder. “You _fucked_ him _up_.”

Mulligan shushed him. “Shut up. We’re not proud of this, remember?”

“Of course not,” Alex nodded, then put a hand under the table to fistbump John in privacy. Mulligan glared.

“Now,” Jefferson said, clearing his throat and looking at Alex with disdain, then back to Lee. “What exactly were the injuries?”

Alex’s jaw fell as Lee listed off a fairly extensive list for a schoolyard fist fight. He glanced at John who gave the tiniest of shrugs in return.

“So, by the sound of it, he really did a number on you,” Jefferson said. “Would it be logical to assume that this was not his first fist fight?”

“Oh yeah,” Lee said. “He came at me like it was karate class. I was terrified.”

“Bless your heart,” Alex mumbled sarcastically, earning another stomp on his foot from Mulligan.

“And where exactly did this fight take place?”

“In the school parking lot.”

“On what day?”

“September 22, 2015.”

“So just last year, then?”

“Yes.”

“And what was the context of this fight? What happened to make him attack you like that?”

“I don’t know. He had just joined debate team, and I was president. We did a little practice debate and he just couldn’t handle it.”

“What was the debate about?” Jefferson asked.

“The Black Lives Matter Movement.” The jury shifted uncomfortably.

“And what was your position?”

“I was against it, he was for it.”

“And how did the debate go?”

“It went fine. He just couldn’t handle the facts I hit him with. He jumped on that civil rights bandwagon and never stopped to question it. The people associated with these movements typically have a hard time forming their own opinion, so it’s understandable.”

Alex almost laughed out loud at Jefferson trying to maintain his composure in front of this guy; he was almost white knuckled. When they were dating, the two of them literally attended rallies together. Now look at him.

“So,” Jefferson said, casually changing the subject. “You two got into a debate, but who won?”

“I did,” Lee smiled.

“So what motivation would that give the defendant for attacking you?”

“He probably thought I made him look stupid.”

“And, during this fight, did you defend yourself?”

“I tried my best. He ambushed me, though. There was nothing I could do.”

“Ambushed?” Jefferson asked. “And can you describe the attack for the court?”

“Well, he just punched me in the face a lot. I don’t know. I was so scared, and he was so _angry_. There were people trying to pull him off of me but he just wouldn’t let up. His eyes were crazy. I didn’t think he was gonna stop.”

“Why didn’t you press charges?”

“Because of who his dad is,” Lee shrugged. “I knew he’d find some expensive lawyers and sue me in return, and my family can’t afford that.”

“And, what do you make of this case? You’re one of the only people who have seen the defendant’s temper firsthand. You’ve been severely hurt by him. Under what circumstances do you believe he killed his father?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he thinks things through, like I said. Maybe it’s a disorder. He was just really angry, or maybe he wanted the will money. I’m not qualified to say. What I do know is that he in an extremely violent person. I believe if he’ll kill his own father, he’ll kill just about anybody.”

“And you believe a person like that needs to be locked up?”

“I believe a person like that will always, in his heart, be a killer. If you’re mad enough to pick up a gun and end someone’s life, you’re a killer. That’s all there is to it. I don’t believe people like that—especially convicted murderers—should be walking the streets.”

“Thank you, Mister Lee,” Jefferson smiled warmly then returned to his seat.

“Would the defense like to cross examine?” Washington asked.

“Yes, your honor,” Mulligan spoke up, raised out of his seat, and leisurely approached the witness stand.

“Thank you for being with us today, Mister Lee,” Mulligan smiled his most shark-like smile. He was about to tear this dude _apart_ and Alex could not wait.

“Sure,” Lee fidgeted in his seat.

“Now, forgive me if I’m wrong here, but there are some facts that were conveniently left out of your testimony, were there not?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Lee said quickly.

“Allow me to refresh your memory, then,” Mulligan smiled. “Yes, the two of you got into a debate the day before. Yes, it ultimately ended in a fight. But what happened in between there?”

“Nothing. It was just a normal day.”

“So you weren’t texting back and forth that night?”

“I was doing homework that night.”

“Mister Lee, are you aware perjury is a federal offense?” Mulligan asked. The entire room fell into a silent _oh shit_ moment.

“I’m not lying—“

“That wasn’t my question.”

“Yes,” Lee strained to keep his voice even. “Yes, I know.”

“Just to let you know, we have the texts,” Mulligan strolled over to the defense’s desk. Alex promptly handed him a manila folder.

“So,” Mulligan said, flipping through the pages. “I’d like to do a little re-enactment, if that’s alright with you.”

“Objection, your honor!” Jefferson yelled, rising to his feet.

“On what grounds?” Washington asked.

“Evidence improper. We have no way of knowing if any of this is real. People can fake screenshots and the witness has not admitted to any of it.”

Jefferson made a damn good point, but it wasn’t a legitimate objection and they all knew it.

“Mister Mulligan, can you provide proof of—“

“One step ahead of you, your honor.” Mulligan smiled, pulling out a paper from John’s cell phone provider. “Permission to approach the stand?”

“Granted,” Washington reached for his reading glasses and took the paper from Mulligan.

The entire court was silent as Washington read over the papers.

“Evidence is solid. Objection overruled, Mister Jefferson,” he stated simply.

Alex smiled smugly. Mulligan ate too much, talked too loud, and couldn’t cook for shit, but he was a damn good lawyer.

“So,” Mulligan said, approaching Lee and handing him a small packet. “You read the texts you sent, and my partner, Mister Hamilton, will read the ones John sent.”

Alex tilted his head, not expecting to be called. Mulligan just winked at him and handed him the packet silently.

“Any time you’re ready, Mister Lee,” Mulligan said.

Lee was shitting himself. It was evident. His face had gone stark white and he was sweating. _Good,_ Alex thought. _Little fuckin’ worm._

Lee gulped and read the first message. “I really don’t appreciate what you did today.”

“And what was that?” Alex read.

“You trying to make me look like a racist in front of MY debate team.”

“Lol, I wasn’t actually trying. It just naturally comes out of you. It’s no biggie.”

“I’m not racist, John.”

“Then you deserve a golden star!” Alex exclaimed. “The defendant then proceeded to put three star emojis and one happy face emoji.”

A few jury members laughed, and Lee visibly squirmed at the next words he was supposed to read.

“Fair warning to the jury. The next several texts contain vulgar language,” Mulligan said. “Do carry on, Mister Lee.”

Lee was having a mini crisis in the witness stand, covered in sweat and red in the face, but read aloud anyway. “Don’t be a fucking prick. We both know why you’re on this black lives bandwagon.”

“You got me,” Alex read. “You’ve learned my secret. I support racial equality. Someone alert the fucking press.”

“No, that’s not why,” Lee said, head as low as it could go. “We all know you’ve been fucking that black bitch since sophomore year,” he whispered.

The entire room fell silent. Alex looked at Jefferson, who clearly didn’t know this part of the story existed. His eyes were wide and he was scrambling for papers on his desk, looking for something, anything, to get them out of this nightmare.

 _Check and mate,_ Alex thought.

“I sincerely hope you’re kidding,” Alex continued reading.

Lee gulped. “Why would I joke about that?”

“Okay, asshat, first, me and Maria have never done anything like that,” Alex read, getting way too into the part. “Even if we had, it wouldn’t be any of your fucking business. Second, refer to her as ‘that black bitch’ one more time and see where that gets you.”

Lee was shaking at this point. “Yes, it is so my business. It’s every boy on campus’s business because she’s—she’s fucked her way through a good 85% of us,” he finished quietly.

“Say one more fucking thing about her and I’m going to make your face part of the concrete.”

“You honestly think I’m scared of you?” Lee read. “I would rip your pathetic fucking head off.”

“Try it. I fucking dare you,” Alex read, reciting it like it was Shakespeare. “You can be a racist, slut shaming little cunt till the day you die but you’re not getting yourway out of this one. Front parking lot after school. Don’t be fucking late.”

“Are you really trying to schedule a fight with me right now? Fuck you and fuck her.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“So what you’re just gonna stop texting? Fucking little wimp.”

“This carries on for several more messages, but the defendant never responds,” Mulligan said.

The entire courtroom was dead silent. No one moved, no one said a word. John sat very still, holding eye contact with Lee. Jefferson, head in his hands, looked absolutely fucking defeated. Alex was having the time of his life.

“Now,” Mulligan continued, collecting the papers from Lee. “Onto a few other facts that seemed to get lost in translation. Did John really ambush you?”

“Well—“

“Because, by the looks of it, you knew when and where it would be happening. You clearly placed yourself at that time in that place. So is it correct to assume that you both knew this fight was about to take place?”

Lee sighed, defeated. “Yes.”

“And, aside from that, did the defendant not stop as soon as you hit the ground? Eye witnesses say that once you fell, he picked up his backpack and walked away. Is this true?”

“Yes.”

“No further questions,” Mulligan spoke softly.

The courtroom was silent as the bailiff escorted Lee out of the room. Jefferson didn’t even look up.

“Well,” Washington broke the silence. “I believe that’s enough for one day. Court adjourned until 10:00 a.m. tomorrow.”

 

 

 

“Holy fucking shit,” Laf said, coming through the door with two arms full of McDonald’s. “I watched the coverage of the trial.”

“Mulligan,” Alex said, slapping him on the shoulder. “You’re a fucking _beast.”_

Alex, John, and Herc ended up claiming an empty deliberation room for their lunch break. After Alex slipped them a $20, the guards agreed to let John stay behind for an hour to eat before he had to go back to prison.

Laf joined them last second, making himself at home on the seat beside Herc, passing out fast food bags. “I’ve never seen anything like that. The kid was having a meltdown up there.”

"It was savage," John agreed, opening the paper on his burger. “You f _ucked_ him _up.”_

“But can we talk about Jefferson,” Alex interrupted. “Did everyone see the look on Thomas Jefferson’s stupid fucking face when Herc brought up the texts?”

“Bless his heart,” Laf laughed. “Bless his dirty, swirling, black hole of a heart. I don’t think he knew those texts existed.”

“He should’ve fact-checked his witness. It’s his own damn fault,” Alex grinned, popping a fry into his mouth. “How’re you feeling, John?”

“I mean, I’m happy Herc made Charles look like an ass.”

“Anytime, my man,” Herc said proudly.

“Is he gonna get in trouble for perjury?” John asked.

“Nah,” Mulligan shook his head. “Doubt it. The point was to debunk his testimony, not to jail him.”

“That’s a shame,” John said, earning a laugh from Alex.

“I have to say, this whole thing is going really fucking well,” Alex said.

“Don’t jinx us,” Mulligan warned. “This is only day one.”

 

 

 

_“Don’t jinx me, John,” James whined._

_“I’m not jinxing you! I honestly feel like you’ll be fine.”_

_“I really don’t see what you’re so worried about,” Henry Jr. called from the back seat. “Auntie Em and Uncle Winston are cool. They have like four computers.”_

_“That’s because Winston is a graphic designer, stupid,” James called back._

_“I don’t know what that means and I don’t care,” Henry defiantly crossed his arms in the backseat. “I just like playing Mario.”_

_“Mario is stupid, stupid.”_

_“Hey!” John interrupted. “James, stop being a dick to Henry. Henry, stop being a dick to James. I’ll turn this car around.”_

_They both muttered low, halfhearted apologies to one another._

_“So what’s the problem, Jay? You still want to spend the night over there, right?” John asked, glancing over at the passenger seat._

_“Yeah,” he hesitated. “I don’t know. I have no reason to be nervous about it.”_

_“If you don’t want to go you don’t have to. You can go home with me and we can order a pizza and play Call of Duty.”_

_“Don’t leave me alone!” Henry whined. “I need someone to talk to and sleep with. Their friends are boring.”_

_James sighed, then looked over at John for answers._

_“It’s whatever you wanna do, kiddo. I know you get anxious about these things sometimes.”_

_“It’s literally a cookout,” Henry piped up. “It’s not even scary.”_

_“What did I say about being a dick, Hen?” John scolded._

_“Sorry, John.”_

_“Don’t apologize to me.”_

_“Sorry, James.”_

_“Anyway,” John said. “I honestly feel like everything will be fine. You have your medicine in case something happens, and Henry always has a backup inhaler in his bag. You’ve been over there a lot of times before. You know you’re safe there.”_

_“I just have a funny feeli—“_

_“Johnny, I gotta use the bathroom,” Henry interrupted._

_“For the love of—“ John sighed, looking at Henry in the rearview. “Can’t it wait like ten minutes till we get there?”_

_“Maybe,” Henry squirmed._

_“Good. James?”_

_“I-- okay. If you think it’s okay then it’s probably okay.”_

_“I know it’s okay. If I didn’t think you were safe there I wouldn’t be taking you.”_

_“I’m still nervous though. I don’t mean to be.”_

_“I know. It’s fine. Plenty of people have anxiety. I don’t know If you remember, but Mom used to have it really bad.”_

_“Remember what I said about waiting? I lied. Please pull over like right now,” Henry interrupted. “Right now immediately. Pee is imminent.”_

_“Stop casually using my vocabulary words, it’s weird,” James said._

_“Johhhhnnn,” Henry whined. “Pee. Is._ Imminent _.”_

_“Fine!” John relented, then pulled into the nearest gas station. “I’ll walk you in.”_

_He walked in hand in hand with Henry, asked the guy at the counter for the restroom key, and escorted his youngest brother to the door. “We’ll be waiting out here.”_

_“’Kay!” Henry said, dashing into the bathroom._

_“Want to pick up a snack?” John started fishing for his wallet in the pocket of his skinny jeans. “I have like eight dollars if you want something.”_

_“Nah, I’m good,” James said. “I do have a question, though.”_

_“Alright.”_

_“How come you never come over to Aunt Emily and Uncle Winston’s house?”_

_John paused, a look James didn’t recognize swept across his face. “I just would rather stay at home,” he finally said._

_“I don’t think that’s true.”_

_“You’re very intuitive.”_

_“And I’m still uncomfortable,” James admitted._

_“Why’s that?”_

_“I just have a really bad feeling about tonight.”_

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” John grumbled.

“Stop whining. Get in the car,” Mulligan said, holding the door open for him.

“Is there a reason you dragged me out of my cell at the asscrack of dawn or…?” John asked, climbing into the passenger seat of Mulligan’s personal car. The sedan wasn’t there today.

“Gotta be there early,” Mulligan smiled. “Alex and Laf are already waiting. And button your cuff links, you look like an animal.”

“It’s goddamn eight in the morning,” John moaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Mulligan walked around the car and got into the driver’s seat, pausing to look John over again.

“Your collar stays aren’t in. I didn’t make you this suit so you could look like a hermit.”

John rolled his eyes and went to work on his cuffs. “Whatever.”

“Don’t get an attitude with me, young man,” Mulligan warned.

“Fuck off. Please just fuck off for like one minute,” John groaned.

“Don’t tell me how long to fuck off. I’ll fuck off when and where I want.”

“Is there a reason you’re extra perky today or…?”

“Accidently got some of Alex’s morning brew earlier today," Mulligan said, starting the engine. "Woke me right the hell up.”

“Alex’s ‘morning brew’?” John tilted his head.

“Equal parts black coffee and Redbull.”

“Jesus Christ,” John laughed. “He actually drinks that?”

“Every morning he’s working. Which, admittedly, is most mornings. We estimate his lifespan to be fairly short.”

John smiled fondly. “He’s a mess.”

“He’s our mess."

 

 

“Alexander, why don’t you let me hang the—“

“Laf, I’ll fuck you up,” Alex warned, dangerously waving a party kazoo at them. “I let you bake the cake, so I’m in charge of decorations, goddamn it.”

“This room looks like Lady Gaga pissed on it.”

“Thank you very much,” Alex said, climbing on the back of a swivel chair. Laf ran to steady it, muttering under their breath about idiot lawyers climbing on things they shouldn’t. “She’s a gay icon,” Alex continued. “Very important for John at this time in his life.”

“These colors don’t even go together,” Laf protested.

“Well aren’t you a negative Nancy,” Alex peered down at his friend. “And hand me my brew.”

 

 

“I still don’t understand why we’re here at eight in the goddamn morning,” John said, climbing out of the sedan.

“No press!” Mulligan smiled. John raised his eyebrows and pointed to the three news vans camped out behind them, reporters actively running toward John and Mulligan.

“Let’s go,” Mulligan said. He physically put himself between John and the reporters until they got into the building. When they entered, the older man smiled brightly. “See? Wasn’t so bad.”

John just looked at him, no expression at all.

“Stop judging me, young man,” Mulligan waved a finger. He pulled out his phone then typed out a quick text.

“Are you seriously texting right now?”

“Come on, Johnny boy,” Mulligan smiled brightly, then lead John down the hallway to their little HQ they established at an old deliberation room, right off the end of the hallway.

“This better be goddamn worth it,” John protested. “I get like, no sleep in that cell anyway and you—“

Herc opened the door, and shoved John inside, mid-complaint. When he registered what was happening, he was speechless. The room was decorated with gross pink, red, and purple streamers haphazardly taped to the walls. Non-helium balloons were littered around the floor, and a few actual balloons floated carelessly at the ceiling. Little Christmas twinkly lights were draped around, giving the room a warm glow. The table in the center had three gift bags on it, complete with party favors littering the space around them. And, in the center of it all, stood Alex and Laf, holding an oversized cake in between them and smiling hugely at John.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” They all yelled simultaneously, Laf pulling a handful of confetti from their pocket and throwing it on John.

John opened his mouth then shut it, taking in the view. It was his birthday. Time passed so strangely the last few months, he’d lost track. It was October 28th, and John was 18.

His heart swelled in his chest looking at the three men in front of him, eyes wide, waiting for John to say something. He opened his mouth again to speak, but nothing came out. The last time he’d tried to celebrate his birthday was the year after his mother died, when his father made it clear that his birthdays weren’t important anymore.

He always had little birthdays for his siblings. Henry and the girls always wanted something extravagant, for which he hired a party planner on his father’s money and let them have at it. James was always happy with just a cake, pizza, and some video games. No one ever really thought about John’s birthday anymore. No one except for these lunatics in front of him.

“What’s this?” He managed, shaking the confetti out of his hair.

“Happy 18th,” Alex said softly.

“Jesus,” John whispered hoarsely, a smile creeping across his face. He felt tears spring to his eyes, but blinked them back hastily. “You did all this?”

“I baked the cake and picked the flowers,” Laf said, gesturing to a vase of fresh daisies behind them. “Alex decorated the room and the cake. Herc kept you distracted till we were ready.”

“I can’t—I don’t… wow, you guys,” John ran a hand through his hair. “Just wow.”

“And you forgot your own birthday, didn’t you?” Alex asked, smiling fondly at John.

“Yeah.”

“Well we didn’t,” he assured.

Laf set the cake down then started sticking eighteen candles in it. “Also, presents. We all picked you out some presents.”

“You can open those later,” Herc said. “Cake is important.”

The seat in front of the cake was decorated with streamers and balloons attached to it, and Alex pulled it out for John to sit in. John smiled, tried not to look him in the eye, and sat down.

“We also have Pepsi, if you want some. I know you don’t really like Coke, so…” Alex shrugged.

“Yeah,” John said. “I’ll take some.”

Alex reached into the cooler, picked out a Pepsi and slid it over to John, a smile on his face. Laf took out a lighter and lit the candles, clapping their hands excitedly when they finished, “ready!”

“Oh, no,” John said quickly. “You’re not gonna sin—“

“Happy birthday to yoooou,” Laf started over him, to which the two boys joined in. Weirdly enough, Mulligan had the voice of an angel. Alex and Laf, god bless them, couldn’t sing for shit and it was the most endearing thing he thought he’d ever seen. The cake decorating, however, definitely left some to be desired. Alex had definitely done it by hand; it read “HAPPY B-DAY JOHN” on it, with a picture drawn in yellow icing of a stick figure with long curly hair which John could only assume was himself.

When they finished singing, Laf fished out their phone to take pictures of John blowing out his candles. It was like the birthdays he used to have when his mother was alive. She’d always take out the video camera and tape the entire thing, no matter how much John protested. He clenched his jaw, willing himself to not get emotional about any of this.

“Let’s cut this motherfucker,” Mulligan interrupted, coming at the cake with a plastic knife. “I need food.”

“You ruined the moment, Herc. You couldn’t just wait like half a minute—“

“Nope,” he smiled, cutting a corner slice off and giving it to John. “For the birthday boy,” he said.

“Thanks.”

They passed the cake around in quiet, with only the occasional sass from Alex about how they were ruining his artwork.

“I created the perfect likeness of John on that cake, and here you are eating his face like it’s nothing,” Alex criticized.

“His face is delicious,” Mulligan said over a mouth full of food. “Is this buttercream?”

“You’re a freak,” Laf said.

“Thanks,” Mulligan smiled a big, yellow and blue tinted grin, Laf playfully smacked his arm.

John sat happily in the middle of a whirlwind of offhanded insults and playful jokes, just silently smiling and eating his cake that was, admittedly, delicious. Maybe cake for breakfast wasn’t the most nutritious choice, but it sure beat the hell out of prison food. He wasn’t sure exactly when the four of them became this close, but he was happy for the company. Happy to be surrounded by people who cared.

When everyone was done, Laf excitedly went to grab the three gifts from the table and ushered them over to John. He smiled, looking at the packages in front of him. He reached for the best looking of the bunch—a paper-wrapped box with a silver glittery bow wrapped around it.

“From me,” Laf said proudly.

John just smiled and went to unwrapping the paper. Inside the box, there were about 15 Copic markers, watercolors, brushes, and a small sketch pad. John smiled happily. “This is great,” he said, taking the gifts out. “Thank you so much Laf.”

“Check the note,” Laf instructed from behind his phone camera.

And, sure enough, in the very bottom of the box there was a small, pink, folded up note. _This coupon entitles Mr. John Laurens to 1 (one) free makeover courtesy of Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, Marquis de Lafayette. (Cannot redeem while in prison)._

John laughed out loud. “Oh my God.”

“You like it?” Laf asked, smile plastered on their face.

“I love it,” John said honestly, and Laf came in for a hug.

“Mine next!” Herc said, shoving an oversized gift-bag in his lap.

John looked up and smiled, then went to taking the tissue paper out of the bag. Inside, as he could’ve guessed, there was a suit; this one was royal blue, with small diamond shapes reflecting off of it. Complete with a small black bowtie and slacks, of course.

“I wouldn’t wear it to court,” Herc warned. “But it’s fly as fuck.”

John smiled wide and nodded. “Yeah. Thank you so much, Herc.”

“Yeah, yeah. I ain’t hugging you.”

“Didn’t expect it,” he smiled.

“And steam it before you wear it, it’s been folded up all day and—“

Laf elbowed him. “Let him enjoy his presents how he wants.”

Herc put his hands up in mock surrender.

“And this one is from Alex,” Laf smiled, handing John the last package.

Alex smiled warmly at John. The package was hand wrapped, but it was possibly the worst wrapping job John had ever seen. There was a bow taped to the front and a little turtle sticker that said “TO JOHN” in all capital writing.

He opened the package excitedly, pausing when he realized the big box just contained a small letter and an even smaller box.

“The letter is sealed,” Alex said, as if John knew what he really meant. “But the box is for right now.”

John smiled and took out the small jewelry box, opening it gently. Inside was a small necklace on a leather chord with a symbol stamped onto a piece of metal. It kind of looked like a lopsided pi sign, to be honest.

“It’s called an Uruz,” Alex explained. “It’s a Viking rune. It—It means a lot of things, you can google it if you want. It’s a lot to explain. I was gonna put the Fehu on there, but it just wasn’t the same. Basically if there was a rune that fit your story, that would be the Uruz.”

“And you just casually have an extensive knowledge of Viking runes?”

“I read a lot,” Alex shrugged.

John nodded and put the necklace around his neck. “Thank you,” he said, discreetly slipping the letter into his pocket.

“You best put that underneath your shirt,” Mulligan scolded before Alex could reply. “You’re not gonna wear that trash over your suit.”

“Hey!” Alex said indignantly. “I made that myself.”

“Maybe that’s why it’s trash, then.”

“It’s not trash, it’s personal.”

“More personal than a specially tailored suit?” Mulligan teased.

“Fuck off, it’s a good gift.”

“Leave it to you to get him something obscure and weird.”

“I like obscure and weird,” John interrupted.

“Then you’ll love Alex,” Mulligan laughed.

John forced a laugh as well, trying to act like that didn’t just make him unreasonably unsteady.

“I hate to be a downer, but if I want a seat in the court today I’ve got to go,” Laf said apologetically.

“And I’ve got to run through the procedures with Jefferson and Washington,” Mulligan sighed, scooting his chair out.

Alex cocked his head. “Me too?”

“It just takes one. And I am unwilling to be on clean-up duty. It’s your mess, Ham. You clean, I’ll lawyer.”

“Whatever,” Alex sighed, sitting back in his seat. “More cake for me and John, then.”

“Peace,” Mulligan said, exiting the room.

“Happy birthday, mi amour,” Laf smiled. “See you later.”

“Thanks,” John said.

When Herc and Laf closed the door behind them, John and Alex were left alone. Alex just smiled. “So,” he said. “What’s it like officially being legal?”

John laughed. “Same as it felt before. I have even less freedom now than I did a few years ago, so it’s not much of a tradeoff.”

“But you can buy all the cigarettes and porn you want,” Alex raised his eyebrows. “It’ll be great.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that next time I’m rotting in my prison cell,” John shot back.

“Touché,” Alex nodded.

The two sat there for a while, enjoying the comfortable silence between them. Alex, as usual, was the one to break it. “You want my phone?”

John looked up. “What?”

“If you want to look up the Uruz,” he explained. “You can use my phone. Court has wifi.”

“Oh, yeah,” John nodded excitedly.

Alex smiled and slid his phone across the table to John. “Snoop through my messages and I’ll end you,” he warned. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Be safe,” John said.

“I’ll do my best,” Alex saluted dramatically before exiting.

John sighed lightly, faced with an impossible urge to snoop the hell out of Alex’s phone. He’d google the rune first, then he’d try to snoop. That was logical, right?

He typed in the word “uruz” and clicked on the second link. All kinds of different interpretations popped up, including psi, energy, mundane, hippie stuff like that. All the words associated with it were, admittedly, very correct. Like, weirdly correct.

 _Endurance, freedom, courage, will, surviving, healing, determination._ That was all pretty spot on. John scrolled down. _Inconsistency, obsession, misdirected force, brutality_ , _rage._

Maybe that was right too. He scrolled down further. _“While Fehu is the symbol of a domesticated cattle,”_ the site read, _“the Uruz is a symbol of the wild bovine, a reminder that cattle were once wild creatures. If Fehu represents young lovers, Uruz represents young warriors_.”

John just stared at the screen, unsure what to make of any of it. Maybe the word lovers was jumping out at him a little too much. He clicked Alex’s phone off, all thoughts of snooping aside.

Alex came back in the door and paused. “You read about it?” He asked.

“I did,” John nodded, handing him his phone back.

“And?”

 _And it was spot on but we’re not going to talk about it because it makes me uncomfortable that you know me so well,_ John thought. “You’re into some really weird shit, you know that?” He said instead.

“I know a lot about useless shit. Ask me something useless, I’ll know the answer. Go ahead.”

“What key do most American car horns honk in?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Alex said. “Nobody knows that.”

“F.”

“Excuse me?”

“They honk in the key of F.”

Alex pursed his lips suspiciously, then pulled out his phone and started pecking away at it.

“Are you fact checking me?” John raised his eyebrows.

“You bet your Puerto Rican ass I am.”

John laughed, tapping on the desk while Alex searched his phone.

“Ha!” He said. “They’re in the _key_ of F, they don’t produce the note F.”

“That’s literally what I said.”

“Shove it, Laurens.” Alex grumbled.

“Hate not being the smartest in the room?” John teased.

Alex put his hands on the table and leaned forward, face mockingly serious. “Hippo’s sweat turns red when they’re stressed.”

John smiled wickedly, and mimicked Alex’s position. “Slugs have four noses.”

“Venus is the only planet that turns clockwise.”

“A pineapple is actually a berry.”

"Kemo Sabe means 'soggy shrub' in Navajo.”

“Nutmeg is poisonous if injected into a vein.”

“Who the fuck would inject nutmeg into their vein.” Alex stated, more as a fact than a question.

“Bitch, I don’t know,” John said, Alex cackling at the name-calling. “Stop changing the subject,” he chuckled.

Alex got himself under control and smiled. “We’re done for the day. I’ve got to clean this up before 10,” he sighed.

“You’re just afraid to lose.”

“I’m more afraid of what Laf’s gonna do if they come back and see I haven’t cleaned all of this up,” he gestured at the mess around the room.

“Good call,” John said. “I’ll help.”

“You sit your birthday boy ass down. Mister,” Alex scolded, rising out of his seat to gather the paper plates and plastic forks. “I can handle this.”

“Fuck off,” John laughed, reaching to clear some of the party favors off the table. “Someone’s gotta throw these fucking kazoos away.”

Alex, full seriousness, looked John dead in the eye, picked up a kazoo, and blew it in his face. “Fuck with my kazoos again, Laurens. See what happens.”

John put his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine then. Kazoos can stay.”

Alex nodded once sharply then went back to taking care of the streamers across the ceiling.

“I’m thinking about leaving these lights up till the trial’s over. What do you think?” he asked, climbing onto the seat of a swivel chair.

“Your call,” John said, pulling the cheap plastic table cover off. “You’re the one who put them up.”

“I’ll leave them,” Alex smiled. “They’re kind of fes— SHIT” he yelled as the chair rolled out from under his feet, causing him to crash dead into John, taking down a whirl of streamers with him.

John grunted with the weight of Alex crushing into him. At first everything was very blurred, like he hadn’t actually processed what happened. But when things came into focus, John noticed a very confused, very shocked lawyer laying on top of him. He couldn’t help but giggle at the sight; his hair was wild, eyes wide, and he was covered in ripped streamers. Alex chuckled indignantly, shaking his head at his own stupidity.  

“Gotta stop standing on swivel chairs,” Alex murmured.

“You’re an idiot,” he said.

“Yeah,” Alex agreed, pushing himself up so his hands were on either side of John’s head. “And I’m still on top of you.”

“It’s not a bad position to be in,” John purred.

“No it is not,” Alex smiled lightly. “But your suit’s gonna wrinkle.” And with that, he grunted and rose, holding a hand out to help John do the same.

“Thanks,” John said, grabbing his hand and letting himself be heaved off the ground.

It became glaringly clear that neither of them had thought this through. Alex was overzealous in lifting him, causing John’s face to be pulled just a few inches away from his own.

Was the room getting smaller? John definitely felt like the room was getting smaller.

The necklace he’d given him earlier burned into his skin. Neither of them moved; John parted his lips softly, at this point he wasn’t even sure he was still breathing. They still hadn’t let go of each other’s hands. Alex was practically glowing in the warm radiance of the Christmas lights. John wasn’t sure how long they actually stood there before Alex broke the silence.

“Christ you’re beautiful,” he said in wonderment, like he didn’t even realize he was speaking.

John couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but stare back into Alex’s eyes. _Beautiful,_ the word rang right through him, sitting like a rock in his chest. Alex’s eyes were so open, so deep and lost that John wasn’t sure he knew anything else existed.

 _You don’t want this,_ a voice that sounded eerily like his father’s rang in his ears. _Cut this shit out now._ He took two large steps back straight into the table. He was shaking now, he wasn’t sure why.

“Streamers,” he said lamely, swallowing hard and pointing at the wall in front of him. “You were… you were getting the streamers.”

Alex blinked a few times, confused. He tilted his head, an expression on his face that bore a terrible resemblance to hurt. “Right,” he said softly. “Streamers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments on chapter one, you guys made my life. Literally all I've done is read and re-read them and smile like a loon. Y'all are the best humans ever honestly. 
> 
> The next chapter is pretty much done, I'll probably have it up within the next two weeks. (Probably sooner bc I'm garbage and can't wait) I'm splitting the court up in bite-sized chunks so it won't be such a big confusing roller coaster. This chapter was fairly pleasant, but the next one will be a little darker. Prepare yourselves for: Sad art references, Ham hecking things the heck up, more flashbacks, and an all-around shitshow of a trial. 
> 
> The suit Mulligan made for John in this one was the same one Ramos wore to the Tony's because reasons. (https://twitter.com/Anthony_Ramos1/status/742772790571470852)  
> And John's necklace is this symbol: http://runesecrets.com/rune-meanings/uruz The meanings behind this one were just too deep to pass up. (Seriously though. It's literally the John Laurens rune, it's so fined tuned to this fic. It's perfect.)
> 
> Credit again to my homie mayaschuyler for being a genius and also for letting me use her prompt.
> 
> Also shoutout to Becca for doing this: https://twitter.com/justafaller_76/status/741010451186622464 crazy art of chapter one because I died. It killed me. I'm deader than Henry Laurens rn. If you guys have twitter you should support her bc wow. 
> 
> Please comment and stuff because jeez you guys it's just the best thing in the world to me. You're all so hilarious and genuine about everything and I just love seeing what you have to say. Thank you for reading!!


	3. The Rabbit Hole

“All rise for the honorable Judge Washington,” the bailiff called to the court.

Everyone rose, as usual, and waited for Washington to sit down before they moved.

“Let the record reflect that the defendant is present, along with the counsel for the defendant, as are the state’s attorneys. Are both sides ready to proceed?”

“We are, your honor,” Jefferson said.

“Ready, your honor.” Madison called.

“And does the state have their first witness for the morning lined up?”

“Yes sir,” Jefferson said.

“Very well. Let’s bring the jury in,” Washington said, everyone rising to their feet as a matter of routine for the jury’s entrance. “State may call their next witness.”

“State calls Doctor James Monroe,” Jefferson said.

John sat in between Alex and Mulligan, tense and nervous as could be. Mulligan had no idea anything happened while he was away, but he and Alex both knew exactly what happened that morning, and it had been sitting like a wall in between them since John took his seat in the courtroom.

As Monroe was being sworn in, Alex leaned down to whisper, “Look, John, about—“

“No sidebar comments, please,” Jefferson said, eyeing Alex with distaste.

“My apologies, Mister Jefferson,” Alex smiled condescendingly.

Alex took a pen and started to write down what he was going to say _. I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It won’t happen again._

John held the note to where neither Mulligan nor the cameras could see it. He just nodded at Alex, and mouthed “It’s okay.”

“State your name for the record, please,” Jefferson said to Monroe, interrupting the fraction of a moment Alex and John were sharing.

“My name is James Monroe.”

“Occupation?”

“Psychologist.”

“Relation to defendant?”

“I was his psychologist for a while.”

“I see,” Jefferson said. “Can you share with the court what you diagnosed the defendant with in your time with him?”

“Night terrors, clinical depression, and ETOH.”

“What is ETOH?” Jefferson asked.

“It’s an acronym for ethyl alcohol, also known as ethanol. Basically, it’s the medical term for alcoholism.”

“My goodness,” Jefferson said dramatically. “At what age did you diagnose this?”

“Around 15 or 16.”

“15 or 16,” Jefferson repeated. “Isn’t that a little young to be drinking at all?”

“It is.”

“Remind me, what is the legal drinking age in the United States?”

“21.”

“Right,” Jefferson said. “So where was he getting access to this alcohol?”

“His father’s liquor cabinet.”

“He stole from his father?”

“I guess you could look at it that way,” Monroe shrugged.

“I do,” Jefferson said sharply. “And who set up the appointments between you and the defendant?”

“Henry Laurens, the defendant’s father.”

“Why?”

“He was a big believer in reparative therapy,” Monroe said. “I don’t think I was ever told the full story, to be honest. But from what I could tell, he didn’t like the way John was behaving.”

“Because it was detrimental to his health, I’m sure,” Jefferson agreed. “What habits did the defendant have at the time you met him?”

“Well, he didn’t sleep a lot. When he did he had a lot of night terrors. Night terrors are like nightmares, except more extreme. The sleeper usually can’t wake up until the dream is complete, and will often take the fear with them into consciousness. I believe, on some level, he does have aquaphobia—fear of water and drowning. A lot of his night terrors revolved around that. He stopped doing hobbies and spending time with his friends, telltale signs of depression. And he admitted to stealing from his father’s liquor cabinet regularly, which led to suspicions of alcoholism.”

“Sounds like he was pretty open with you.”

“He got there. The first few meetings he wasn’t, but he warmed up eventually.”

Alex smirked and jotted down a note on his pad. Mulligan raised an eyebrow and he just winked back.

“Now, onto the reason why we’re all here today, was there ever any sign that the defendant might be hostile towards his father?” Jefferson asked.

“He did harbor some negative feelings towards his father, and those with ETOH tend to behave more erratically as the condition worsens.”

John shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Alex fought the urge to lay a comforting hand on his knee, reminding himself that John was definitely not interested in his affection.

“So, when you heard the defendant killed his father, how surprised were you?”

“Alcohol changes people,” he sighed. “I was surprised about the extent of it all, but usually alcoholism ends bad. I hate to say it, but I think that’s the driving factor behind all this.”

“Do you believe Henry Laurens incited the attack?” Jefferson asked.

“I’ve spoken with Henry Laurens twice,” Monroe said. “Both times he said good things about John. I never suspected any underlying violence in him. So, no, I don’t believe Henry incited the attack.”

“Now, we can’t say for sure there was alcohol in John’s system that night. The defense refused a drug test. Which is fine, that’s their right. But it is a tad suspicious, wouldn’t you say, Dr. Monroe?”

“I think so.”

“No further questions,” Jefferson smiled, returning to his seat.

“Would the defense like to cross-examine at this time?” Washington asked.

“Yes, your honor,” Alex called out, buttoning his suit jacket and rising out of his seat. “Thank you for being with us here today, Doctor Monroe.”

“Of course.”

“Now, there were a few things in your previous testimony I’d like to clear up for the court. Mister Jefferson had you delve into the defendant’s ETOH, as you call it, but what about the other two diagnoses?”

“What about them?”

“On what grounds did you diagnose them?”

“Like I said, he admitted to having night terrors. The depression is harder to explain simply. It’s evident to a good psychologist when someone is depressed.”

"Did you also mention a phobia?"

"Well, yes. Aquaphobia, fear of water," Monroe sighed. "Officially diagnosing a phobia is quite the process, so it's not on his records."

"Do you know what caused this phobia?"

"Officially, no. I have no proof."

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, keep note of this, as it will come back up later," Alex smiled. “And you said Henry Laurens set up those appointments. How many times did you meet with the defendant?”

“Once a week for two months.”

“Why so short?”

“The money stopped coming in. I guess Henry was satisfied that his son was happier and healthier.”

“Was he?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“So let’s talk about your knowledge,” Alex said, pacing the floor. “You met with him once a week for two months, so that’s roughly eight meetings. How long did each appointment last?”

“An hour.”

“So you’ve had only eight hours to get to know the defendant. And, didn’t you mention to Mister Jefferson that the defendant was quiet and uncooperative for the first several appointments?”

“Yes.”

“About how many appointments was he uncooperative?”

“The first month I barely got a word out of him,” Monroe admitted. “All of this information came later.”

“So, in total, you had eight hours with the defendant, four of which were wasted entirely, leaving you roughly four hours to make these huge character assumptions and diagnoses, correct?”

“Well… I guess so.”

“Would you, as a professional, agree that it takes more than four hours to truly know someone?”

“Yes.”

“So is it safe to say that any and maybe all of the assumptions you’ve placed before the court today about the defendant's behavioral habits and motivations could be totally inaccurate altogether?”

“Objection, your honor. Assuming facts not in evidence.” Jefferson called.

“Overruled,” Washington said simply.

“Doctor Monroe?” Alex gestured for the man to go on. “You can answer the question.”

“Oh,” he said. “Yes, I guess so. But--”

“No further questions,” Alex interrupted.

“The witness may stand down,” Washington gestured at Monroe. “Thank you sir.”

Monroe nodded solemnly and stepped away.

Alex turned on his heel and returned to his seat, winking at Jefferson on the way. The older man just rolled his eyes.

 

_John sat at his desk, patiently shading his latest piece of artwork. It wasn’t anything special—just a landscape in grayscale. It was probably going to go in a drawer with the rest of his art he never looked at, but, for now, he was proud._

_He picked up one of the discarded water bottles from his floor and took a sip, deciding he deserved something stronger. Again._

_He’d already dropped the boys off, so he wouldn’t be driving until tomorrow, anyways. He sighed, pulled the headphones out of his ears and made his way down the large stairs of his vast, empty house. His father’s liquor cabinet was, as usual, unlocked and inviting. He pulled a glass out of the cabinet, took out the bottle of Jameson, and filled the cup full._

_John knew, rationally, that he shouldn’t be drinking. Dr. Monroe had been damn clear about that. But Dr. Monroe also wasn’t in his position and didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. John silently toasted to moronic doctors and took a swig out of his glass._

_He ended up downing that glass, and pouring another to take with him to his room. He sat on his bed, legs crossed, on his laptop watching Netflix. He’d tried texting Maria, but she wasn’t answering. Probably had better things to do._

_Maybe he was still depressed or something. Maybe he needed more medicine or more alcohol or both._

_His doctor described depression to him using Vincent Van Gogh as an example. He had depression and painted a lot then ended up shooting himself in the stomach. So, maybe Van Gogh wasn’t an idol, but he was the poster boy for sadness._

_He died after painting a bunch of cornfields. Landscapes. There was one, named Wheatfield with Crows, that he painted right before he died. It seemed like a pretty picture; all vibrant yellows and deep hues of blue. There’s a road or a path or something cutting through the middle, dividing the two sides of the field. The crows just fly where they want._

_Here’s the thing about Van Gogh, yes, he was an impressionist, but he knew dimension. He knew focal centers and eyelines and everything. That path in the middle? It stops halfway._

_And, it’s funny to John that literally no one notices. No one points it out in that picture, everyone just accepts that to be his last and carries on their merry way. Maybe they don’t look close enough. In John’s experience, people never really do._

_But Van Gogh’s been dead for more than one hundred years, so none of it really means anything anymore._

_“Jackie!” His father called from downstairs. John checked the time on the corner of his computer. Dad was home early._

_He put his computer down on his bed and padded downstairs, sobering up in the presence of his father. “Yeah?” He said casually._

_“Where’re the kids?” He asked._

_“The twins are at their friend’s house, the one whose parents are in charge of the Girl Scouts. Henry and James are at Winston’s place.”_

_“Why didn’t I know about any of this?”_

Maybe because you don’t fucking pay attention _, John thought. “I don’t know. I texted you.”_

_Henry paused, looked John over, then pulled out his phone to check his texts. “Oh, right.”_

_John just slumped against the wall, waiting for the okay to go back upstairs._

_“Did you talk to that guy from NYU?” He asked._

_John crossed his arms, not in the mood for conversation. “Not today. I’m going for a campus tour in a week or so, if you want to come check it out with me.”_

_Henry chuckled. “I think you can handle that yourself.”_

_"Yeah.”_

_They stood silently, neither of them having anything to talk about. “Well, alright then,” his father sighed, loosening his tie and walking toward the kitchen. John took that as a sign to go back up to his room._

_Maybe James was right. Maybe tonight was going to be a bad night. Maybe this is where John’s little path through his wheatfield ended._

_He decided to drink to it._

 

 

“State may call their next witness,” Washington said.

“State calls John Jay to the stand,” Jefferson rose out of his seat.

John furrowed his brows and looked at Mulligan, who simply whispered “forensics.” John nodded once and looked back at the witness stand where Jay was getting situated.

“State your name for the jury please,” Jefferson requested.

“My name is John Jay, forensic analyst.”

“And you were assigned to the defendant’s case, were you not?”

“I was.”

“I understand you brought a few diagrams with you here today,” Jefferson smiled.

“I did,” Jay nodded.

“Pictures are located in a folder marked EVIDENCE-JAY, if the jury would like to look at it now,” Jefferson smiled at the jury. Mulligan pulled up the pictures on their computer as well. John looked away.

“Now, according to the forensics, describe what happened the night of July 11th, 2016,” Jefferson said calmly.

“Well,” Jay started. “From what I can tell, there was a fistfight, or something akin to it, in the living room that moved to the far wall, then to the kitchen. The defendant’s blood is found in small amounts and mostly smeared, not splattered, suggesting no weapons were used against him for the entirety of the fight. Once the altercation reached the kitchen, it seems the defendant had the upper hand. That’s when I believe he pulled the gun out.”

“And how did he shoot his father?”

“Twice in the stomach.”

“The autopsy reports are all there,” Jefferson gestured at the computers for the jury. “Now, why would the defendant shoot twice?”

“Fear, maybe. I’m sure he’s never used a gun before, so maybe he didn’t know what he was doing.”

“But it was a pistol, correct?”

“Yes.”

“A pistol from Henry Laurens’ time in Vietnam, one that he took home and kept in a locked cabinet. To be exact,” Jefferson glanced down at his notes. “A Colt M1911 semi-automatic service pistol. Where was this pistol when you started to investigate the scene?”

“In the kitchen on the counter.”

“How would the defendant come across this gun? Did Henry Laurens not keep it locked away in a case?”

“Objection, your honor,” Hamilton called. “Prompting.”

“Sustained,” Washington answered.

Jefferson, not missing a beat, rephrased. “How could the defendant get his hands on that gun?”

“Only by breaking into a locked case.”

“So, the gun was in a locked case. Was it loaded?”

“Not likely.”

“So what you’re telling me is,” Jefferson said, eyeing Jay calmly. “The defendant had to break into the gun case, get the bullets, and load the gun himself?”

“Yes.”

“And how many bullet wounds did the decedent sustain?”

“Two.”

“So the defendant shot twice, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Why would the defendant shoot the gun twice? Wouldn’t one bullet have sufficed?”

“I suppose so.”

“So, in your experience,” Jefferson said, choosing his words carefully now. “Why would a killer usually keep shooting once the job is done?”

“Anger, usually,” Jay said. “Sometimes they’re just crazy, but it’s usually anger.”

“We’ve established that the defendant was an alcoholic at the time. Do you believe alcohol played a role in this?”

“Definitely. I know it was in Henry Laurens’ system at the time of his death, likely consumed less than an hour before. As for the defendant, I have no definitive way of knowing if he was drunk at the time.”

“Under what circumstances do you believe the altercation occurred?”

“Objection,” Hamilton called. “Witness incompetence.”

“Overruled.”

“Due respect, your honor, but as a forensics expert, Mister Jay is only qualified to say what happened _after_ or _during_ the altercation, not before,” Alex argued.

Washington considered for a moment. “Thin ice, Mister Hamilton,” he warned. “Sustained.”

“Well then, Mister Jay, I’ll ask this. Do you believe, based on the evidence collected, the defendant was right to kill his father?"

“I don’t think anybody is ever justified in killing anybody else,” Jay answered. “Maybe in very rare circumstances, but I don’t believe this is one.”

“Based on what you saw, was this murder more or less gruesome than you typically see?”

“The only thing that surprised me was the blood. There was a lot of it.”

“Whose blood, mostly?”

“Henry Laurens. I mean, he was the one who got shot, so it’s logical. I’m talking about the amount of blood the defendant left. Not a dangerous amount, but there was plenty.”

“But not in extreme traces?”

“No.”

“So it’s likely the defendant wasn’t actively in danger at the time he murdered his father?”

“By the time someone pulls a firearm, they’re the predator. That’s usually the case.”

"So what we have here, ladies and gentlemen," Jefferson turned to the jury. "Is the picture of a man with a vendetta. A motivated killer who couldn't have done this out of instinct, but out of practice. The premeditated motives Mister Jay just laid before the court prove beyond a reasonable doubt that John Laurens went into this so-called 'fist fight' with malicious intent. He broke into a locked cabinet, stole the gun, loaded it, and shot it not once, but twice. Are these the actions of someone purely defending themselves? Since when is self-defense lethal?" The jury took a few notes as he was talking. Jefferson had them hooked. “Nothing further,” he hummed.

Alex and Mulligan breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief. “He’s done calling witnesses,” Mulligan whispered to John.

“Thank fuck,” Alex said.

“Would the defense like to cross examine at this time?” Washington asked.

Mulligan opened his mouth to speak up, but Alex spoke up for them. “We would, your honor.”

The older man’s eyes widened. “What the hell? We agreed not to cross—“

“We can't leave it on that note," Alex said. "We have to do some damage control," he stood and made his way to the witness stand.

“Fuck,” Mulligan whispered under his breath. “This ain’t gonna be good.”

“Have some faith,” John said back, to which Mulligan just ignored.

“Thank you for being with us today, Mister Jay,” Alex said casually.

“Of course,” Jay replied.

“Could you please tell the court, besides the gunshot wounds, who came out with the most physical damage?”

“The defendant.”

“And you said Henry Laurens was shot twice, correct?”

“Correct.”

“But, as the state said, the gun was a semi-automatic. Yes, you have to pull the trigger for every bullet, but, especially if your hands are shaking and you were in danger, it’d be understandable to pull the trigger more than once, correct?”

“No,” Jay replied simply. “Anything over one bullet isn’t justifiable in any way.”

“I’m asking you for your professional views, not your personal,” Alex said, eyes narrowing.

“Maybe. I’m not a _killer_ , so I wouldn’t really know.”

Mulligan was gripping his pen so tight John was surprised it didn’t snap in half.

“Please refrain from making comments outside of my questions, Mister Jay,” Alex said. “Let’s move on. What do you think the mindset behind pulling the trigger twice was?”

Beside John, Mulligan dropped the pen and put his head in his hands. Whatever Jay was about to say, he knew it wouldn’t be helpful.

“I think the defendant is a very sick individual. I belie—“

“That’s not the question I asked you, Mister Jay.”

Jay tilted his head. “You would receive an appropriate response if you allowed me time to answer the question.”

“Right. My apologies,” Alex smiled.

“Like I said, the defendant has more than a few problems. That’s evident by the crime scene. Even with the gun being a semi-automatic, any normal human would be hyper-aware they were holding a deadly weapon, even in the face of imminent danger. Danger which I believe the defendant was not in at the time the trigger was pulled. I believe his reasoning was more anger than fear. You don’t have to hack up a body to prove you’re a killer, it just takes one bullet. Anything more than that is just incriminating.”

“So, what you’re saying is—“ Alex tried.

Mulligan rose from his seat before things could get any worse. “The defense rests.”

Alex looked at his friend who looked at him flatly, jaw set. He had fucked up, and it wasn’t getting better anytime soon.

Washington raised his eyebrows, then looked up to the court. “We’ll take the weekend and reconvene Monday at 10:00 a.m.”

 

 

 

By the time John and Mulligan got to their twinkly-lighted room, Alex was already at the table, staring blankly at the wall.

“You fucked up, kid,” Mulligan deadpanned. “That turned around on you real quick.”

“I had it under control,” Alex said shortly. “I had it under control and you made me stand down—“

“You were making it worse, Alex. That man was not our witness. You can’t give hostile witnesses open questions like that,” Mulligan said, taking the seat across from Alex. John just kept standing, hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, Herc, I know that,” Alex spat.

“So then why would you assign Jay to yourself then butcher the testimony? We didn’t _need_ to cross examine.”

"Yes we did," Alex argued. "Jefferson was eating us alive."

"Maybe," Mulligan nodded. "But we could've come back from it. What you just did? I don't think we can come back from that."

Alex just sat, eyes straight ahead of him.

"We agreed not to cross the forensics guy, and you did it anyway. You just—" 

"Hey, let him be," John spoke up. "You don't have the right to get mad about this case, I do. It's my ass on the line, here. And if I'm not mad at him, you shouldn't be either."

Alex opened his mouth helplessly, baffled at the man in front of him. The fact that John was so willing to forgive his sorry ass made it about a million times worse.

Just then Laf walked in, taking in the scene in front of them. “Everyone okay?”

“Please take John outside,” Mulligan said.

“Hold on—“ John started.

“On it,” Laf said, not questioning the obvious look of distress on their friend’s faces. “Let’s see if we can get coffee from the reception area.”

John just looked at the two lawyers at the table, neither of them looking back at him. They had something to say and John was very obviously not supposed to hear it. Laf laced their hand through John’s arm and left the room, not looking back.

Herc waited for the door to shut before he started speaking. “You do realize he’s not innocent, right?”

Alex scoffed. “Yes, dumbass I know he killed his dad.”

“No, Alex,” Herc sighed. “Look, John is a sweet kid. He’s young and he’s bright and he’s had a really rough go. It’s easy to forget who you’re dealing with here.”

“And who am I dealing with, then? Because last time I checked, we’ve been with him for months and we know him pretty goddamn well. I’m not an idiot, Mulligan. I know what he did.”

“No, you’re not an idiot,” Mulligan said slowly, calmly. Like Alex actually fucking was an idiot. “But I don’t think you’ve ever really thought about it. Do you remember how scared you were to leave Laf alone in a max-security room with him? I had to force you out the door so they could talk to each other.”

“Your point?”

“My point is, the only thing that’s changed is that now you know him. Now you’re, maybe even subconsciously, convincing yourself he’s innocent. No matter how good he is, there’s something dark in there. And there’s something very dark in what he did. You can’t go into questioning thinking everyone is gonna see him the way you do.”

“We’re representing him, Mulligan. We need to be on his side.”

“And we are. But we have to be very, very careful about this. They can’t give him the death sentence, but they can send him to fed. Which, in a lot of ways, is a whole lot worse.”

“I’m not trying to get him thrown in federal prison—“

“Obviously not. But the next time you’re up on the floor you need to be actively thinking about what happens if we lose.”

Alex sat completely still and quiet for a moment, clenching his jaw hard.

“Everyone in that jury is on Jefferson’s side,” Mulligan continued. “They have been from the start. Our witness list? We need to go over it again. Fine tune that bitch. Once we start calling people, they need to be rock solid. No room for error, no room for Jefferson to swoop in, okay?”

“Okay,” Alex whispered.

Mulligan sighed. “I’m gonna see if I can find Laf and John. I’ll make up something about what we were talking about.”

“Okay.”

Mulligan rose from his seat and put his suit jacket back on, before he could step out of the door, Alex stopped him.

“Wait.”

“Yeah?” He turned.

“Did…” Alex started, voice low. “Did I just lose this trial for John?”

Mulligan just looked at his friend, all small and defeated in his chair. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Let’s hope not.”

Alex nodded once and ran a hand through his hair, alone with his thoughts.

 

 

_“Jackie! Come down and see this!” His father called from downstairs._

_John sighed and padded downstairs, stopping at the bottom to look at his father in the recliner. “What’s up?”_

_“Come watch this with me,” Henry gestured. “It’ll be fun.”_

_John walked into the living room, plopped himself on the adjacent couch, and curled up. He eyed his father’s glass of whiskey enviously._

_“What is this?” He asked._

_“Documentary,” Henry smiled. “I think you’ll like it. I recorded it for you.”_

_John tilted his head. “Oh,” he smiled hesitantly. “Thanks, Dad.”_

_Henry just smiled and took another swig of his whiskey._

_He didn’t often do things like this for John. For any of his kids, really. But certainly not John. Maybe it was a turtle documentary or something. Dad knew he liked turtles. It could be an art thing, but probably not. Dad didn’t like art too much._

_John’s heart fell after the program came on and the topic was revealed. Oh._

_“Is this…”_

_“Pray away the gay,” his father laughed. “You don’t have to watch it if you’re not interested. I know you ain’t a queer anymore or anything. I just thought it might be funny.”_

_John hesitated. His dad was a piece of shit, but he was honestly trying. John would rather take a bullet to the head than watch this documentary, but he figured he could suffer through it for some long-overdue quality time with his dad before he left for NYU._

_“Yeah, I’ll watch with you,” he said._

_“Atta boy,” Henry smiled, raising his glass victoriously. “Ya know, most fathers and sons bond over sports.”_

_“We’re not most fathers and sons.”_

_Henry laughed. “I guess you’re right about that.”_

_John mindlessly watched the screen roll past the first half of the documentary. It made him sick to see it, sick to think his father thought he really was cured. As if oxygen deprivation from drowning actually made him less gay._

_“Goddamn,” his father whispered, watching a hidden camera footage of electroshock treatment. “These guys are crazy.”_

_And something in John went wrong right then and there. Maybe it was the whiskey, he didn’t know. But suddenly his head was running at 100 miles per hour and his mouth was struggling to catch up._

 

 

Jefferson forgot his briefcase.

And he would’ve left it all night, but it had his phone charger, notes, and personal information on witnesses that he absolutely couldn’t afford to risk. So, he drove all the way back to the courthouse at around 3:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning and had a janitor let him in.

“Thank you so much,” Jefferson smiled. “I just forgot my briefcase.”

“No worries,” the janitor said. “That other guy’s still here too. I just had to do Sunday evening checks, but since he’s here I’m staying all night, apparently. Can’t leave till he does,” he sighed.

Jefferson furrowed his brows. “That other guy?”

“Yeah, you know, the small one with the attitude?”

Jefferson nodded knowingly. “Ah. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” the janitor said, taking a seat in the lobby. “I got dogs to feed.”

On his way down the hall Jefferson chuckled to himself. The small one with the attitude. Yeah, he knew that guy.

He decided to pick up his briefcase first, then head down the opposite end of the hallway to the defense’s secret little hideout they had going on.

The door was cracked, so he just lightly pushed it open and took in the sight.

The room was decorated with half-assed streamers and twinkly lights, God knows why. Alex was sitting criss cross in a swivel chair, notes strung out all across the long table, a laptop in front of him. He had three empty cups of coffee on the floor and one presumably full one on his left side. His eyes were dark and droopy like he hadn’t slept in forever.

“Alex?” Jefferson said, eyeing him cautiously.

Alex jumped, spilling his coffee on a few of his notes. “Shit,” he said, picking the cup up and trying to save his notes. “Thanks a lot, douchecanoe.”

“Why are you still here?” Jefferson sighed, leaning against the doorway.

“Work,” Alex said shortly.

“Have… have you been here all weekend?”

“Yup.”

“Doing what exactly?”

“Working.”

“No, it’s 3 a.m. You need to be sleeping.”

“You need to shut the fuck up.”

“Alex.”

“Thomas.”

“You can’t just do this. That old jani—“

“Please leave,” Alex said softly, tiredly. “I have a lot to do and you are the last person I want to see right now.”

“Because I’m winning this case?” Jefferson smiled condescendingly.

Alex clenched his jaw and turned back to his computer. “Close the door on your way out.”

“Alex—“

“I’ll stay here all fucking week if that’s what it takes to win this case, Thomas. There are certain things I am not willing to risk and this is one of them.”

Jefferson tilted his head. “Risk? Is something on the line here other than the fame and fortune?”

“John Laurens, you fucking lampshade,” Alex said, still looking at his computer. “John Laurens is on the line here.”

“As he should be.”

Alex sighed deeply, genuinely tired and so, so pissed off. “Get the fuck away from me.”

“He’s not gonna die, Alex.”

“No, but he’s gonna be sent to federal. And we both know what that means.”

“Haven’t they shut that down? I thought there was a big lawsuit about cruel and unusual punishments.”

“Hasn’t gone through. Won’t see the light of day for at least the next decade,” Alex tapped a paper he’d printed out.

Jefferson whistled. “Bad time to be a criminal, then.”

“Hey, just wondering, but can you fuck off?” Alex asked, eyes finally moving to Jefferson. “Can you fuck off my life for even a minute? I don’t want you in here. I don’t want to listen to your bullshit ideas about justice. And I swear to God if you make one more comment about John, however third-party it may be, I’m gonna swing. You don’t get to come in here and talk shit about him to me. That’s not how this works.”

Jefferson raised an eyebrow. "Something going on you're not telling me about?"

"Fuck off."

"Alex," Jefferson purred, using the same tone that used to melt Alex. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Shove it up your ass," Alex shot back, clearly unaffected.

“Fine,” Jefferson put his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t come to start a fight, Alexander.”

“Well that’s too bad because that’s what you’re about to get,” Alex kicked his chair out from under him and stood.

Jefferson rolled his eyes and sighed in annoyance. Alex was a good bit smaller than him, and a lot weaker, but he was genuinely ready to fight. Some things never change.

“Alex—“

“Close the door on your way out, fuckbucket.”

“Boys?” The old janitor from earlier came in hesitantly. “Listen, I have a 12 year old corgi at home and she hasn’t been fed or taken outside and I really need to—“

“Fine,” Alex said shortly, shutting his computer and gathering some of his papers. “Sorry about your corgi,” he said to the janitor, then pushed past him and walked down the hall.

Jefferson smiled apologetically. “He doesn’t get much sleep; he’s a little cranky.”

“No dip, Sherlock,” the janitor mumbled.

Jefferson leaned down and picked Alex’s leftover coffee cups from the floor and chunked them in the nearest trashcan.

“Enjoy your night,” he called to the janitor, who just waved him off in return.

When Jefferson got to the parking lot, Alex wasn’t even in sight. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, then ran to his car.

He got out of the parking lot and drove half a block before he found Alex Hamilton’s dumb ass walking alone at night with two arms full of papers and his laptop.

“Hey!” Jefferson called out, rolling the window of his Mustang down. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Walking,” Alex said, not looking at him.

Jefferson kept the speed of his car down with Alex’s walking speed. “You shouldn’t walk by yourself here at night, you know that right?”

“I’d rather get mugged and die than ride anywhere with you,” Alex said.

“I respect that," Jefferson nodded. "But I refuse to be responsible for your untimely death. Get your ass in my car now."

“Nope,” Alex shook his head, picking up his pace.

“Since when is it okay for you to cop an attitude with me? You don't get to argue—"

“Bye,” he said dismissively, waving a hand at Jefferson.

He considered his options, then said a quick goodbye and left Alex in the rearview.

Jefferson drove for a few seconds then glanced back at the pathetic form behind him, tiny and scared and clutching his laptop like it was giving him life. Jefferson groaned, annoyed at his capacity to care for this absolute asshole walking behind him.

He sighed and slowed the car down till Alex caught up. When Alex peered curiously into the black passenger window, Jefferson smiled deviously and pulled out his cellphone and plugged it in to the AUX cord. He skimmed his music till he found Baby Got Back and began blaring it at full volume, the windows of his car shook with the bass.

“What the fuck?” Alex yelled, finally stopping.

“Music stays till you get in my car,” Jefferson rolled the window down. “I’ll follow you all the way home if I have to.”

Alex finally stopped, breathed in once through his nose, swallowed his pride and opened the door to Jefferson’s car.

Jefferson smiled and turned down the music. “Glad you could make it.”

“Fuck off,” Alex said, buckling his seatbelt.

 

 

“What the fuck?” Mulligan said, opening the door of their apartment.

Thomas fucking Jefferson was in the doorway, carrying a very unconscious Alex Hamilton bridal style. “Delivery,” he said.

When Mulligan didn’t respond Jefferson just shoved past him and plopped Alex on the couch.

“What the fuck?” Mulligan repeated.

“Articulate,” Jefferson mocked.

“Hold up,” Mulligan said, rubbing his eyes. “What are you… why is… what the _fuck_? Did you drug him?”

“No you buffoon, he was at the courthouse. I brought him back. You’re welcome.”

“He can handle himself.”

“Clearly,” Jefferson gestured to the drooling figure on the couch. “You left him there all weekend.”

“He wanted to stay, Jefferson. I’m not gonna force him to come home and sleep.”

“No, but…” Jefferson trailed off. “Look, we both know how he is. You can’t always just let him—“

“I’ll let him do whatever the fuck he wants because he’s a grown ass man and I’m not his mother,” Mulligan said, crossing his arms.

“Jefferson,” Lafayette said, emerging from Mulligan’s room in an oversized t-shirt. “What the fuck?”

“That’s what I said!” Mulligan threw his hands up.

“I’m leaving now,” Jefferson said. “Sorry to wake you.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Jefferson called over his shoulder as he exited. “See you in court.”

 

 

The next morning things went about as they usually did. John was taken to their HQ for “consultation time,” sat at the table while Alex briefed Mulligan about his plans for the day, and was in the process of drinking the rest of Alex’s morning brew out of the man's trademark gold thermos. Coffee and Red Bull, as it turns out, isn’t actually that bad if you’ve been lying awake in a prison cell all night.

Alex was mumbling to Mulligan, giving him the details of the day before him without John hearing. John was doodling on some of Alex’s papers, leaving snarky notes and random drawings on them for him to find later. When the door swung open and some guy with big hair strolled in, everyone assumed it was Lafayette and went on with their usual business.

“Ahem,” called the figure from the doorway. And the voice, the voice was definitely not Lafayette.

All of their heads snapped up in unison like startled meerkats to take in the man leaning casually against the door. John’s heart dropped when he registered who it was.

“What the fuck,” Alex said, not making it a question. He kicked his seat out from under him and made it to Jefferson in two strides, Mulligan right beside him. John, not knowing what to do with the tension in the room, just stood where he was.

"You can't be in here," Alex spat. "Not with him," he gestured at John.

“Leave,” Mulligan said quietly.

“Is that any way to treat a guest?” Jefferson smiled and John felt sick. “I have your partner’s notes and laptop, in case you forgot.”

John tilted his head, not daring to speak up.

Mulligan turned his head slightly to look at Alex, who was standing there looking about as guilty as he could be.

“You have his notes?”

“He left them in my car last night,” Jefferson took that opportunity to look over at John and smile. “Don’t worry, I didn’t do anything unholy with them. It’s already too easy to win this case, I don’t need any advantages.”

Mulligan frowned and held out his hand for Jefferson’s arm full of papers and MacBook, to which Jefferson handed over with a sly grin.

“Bye,” Mulligan said dismissively, body language still tense.

“Y’all have a nice morning,” Jefferson said, hesitating to look at John before he turned on his heel to leave the room.

Mulligan reached to shut the door behind him, then turned to look at his partner.

“Alex, what the _fuck—“_

“Look, Herc, I was half-asleep when I got in his car, I didn’t realize I left my notes!”

“You absolute mo—“

“Hold the fuck up,” John interrupted. “You were in Jefferson’s car last night?” He asked Alex.

Alex opened his mouth helplessly and just nodded.

“You were in Jefferson’s car,” he repeated slowly. “Prosecutor Jefferson who wants my head on a pike?”

“The very same,” Mulligan nodded.

“Well, what the hell?” John asked incredulously.

“It’s a very long story, okay? Very long.”

“Yet it all can be summed up in four words,” Mulligan said. “Alex is an idiot,” he counted off on his fingers.

“Hey!” Alex said, spinning to look at his partner. “I’m not a fucking idiot.”

“So staying up here all night then letting your crazy controlling ex-boyfriend drive you back home at four a.m. was a _smart_ thing to do?”

“Hold the fuck up again,” John said. “Your _ex-boyfriend_?”

The room fell dead silent as both of the lawyers eyes widened. Alex took this opportunity to knock Mulligan in the back of the head, which the taller man just accepted.

“Your ex-boyfriend?” John asked again.

“Yeah,” Alex said, head down. “Yeah, I dated Jefferson.”

John could feel his face fall despite himself. “You dated Jefferson,” he repeated slowly.

“Yup,” Mulligan affirmed.

"Oh," John said quietly. "Okay, then."

The room fell silent, John's mind reeling from the bit of very unwelcome information he just received.

John's brain took it's time processing this information. Alex and Jefferson were together. Alex and Jefferson—

“John Laurens,” one of John’s ever-so-timely guards popped his head in the door. “Time to go.”

"Right," John said, turning to walk towards his guard. "Bye, you guys," me muttered to his lawyers, fake smile plastered on his face.

After the guards took him to his waiting room, the first thing he did was take the necklace Alex had given him off. He wasn't sure why he did it, but it felt like the thing to do now. He held it in his hand for a moment before shoving it into his pocket.

When he finally got to walk into the courtroom, John’s eyes went straight to Jefferson, who, along with everyone else in the room, was watching him enter. He took his normal seat between his two lawyers and sat silently while the got everything in order, waiting for Washington to come in.

John glanced at Jefferson again. He seemed tall, even sitting down. Dark skin, nicely trimmed beard, wild corkscrew dark hair. He wasn’t ugly, but John didn’t see the attraction. Maybe it’s just because of all the times he’s called John a cold-blooded murderer. That tends to be a turn off.

He glanced at Alex, who smiled back at him. Smiling like John hadn’t turned him down on his birthday and did it in what was the coldest way possible. He remembered being that close to Alex, before having the sick realization that Jefferson had been even closer.

He breathed in deep through his nose. He shouldn’t be getting this worked up about any of this. Alex’s love life was his business and his business alone. John had made it very clear earlier that he wanted no part of it, and it was far too late to take that back.  Besides, after all this is over they won’t ever have to see each other again.

John tried to convince himself that was a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give every one of you permission to fight me upon sight. I'm so sorry about being garbage about updating. I just get real nervous then abandon it for a while then come back and get real nervous again and it's a cycle until I buckle down and just do it. I know it's less fun to read something that takes a year between updates, so I'm really sorry.
> 
> Also a lot of you commented about Jefferson so I added a little more of him in here. I like hearing what you guys have to say, and I definitely remember everything when I start writing, so comment away. And I wish this chapter could've been a little more lams-y but, unfortunately, the gays giveth and the gays taketh away. 
> 
> The janitor's 12 year old corgi is definitely based off my old ass corgi, btw. Shoutout to my girl Angel.
> 
> Prepare yourselves for: Alex and Herc calling their witnesses! Sad stories! Plot twists! And a surprise appearance from everyone's favorite douchebag!
> 
> Credit again to my homie mayaschuyler for the prompt and for being my personal hype squad after I post. 
> 
> Hope this was worth the wait!!! I have huge plans for this story if y'all will just bear with me. Please continue with your amazing feedback because you guys make my day everytime I see them. Thanks for reading!


	4. The Switch

The court day started like all the others.

They stood for Washington and the jury, then sat back down as they went over whatever official speeches and warnings for the day. John wasn’t listening, he was just hyper aware of Alex’s presence next to him. The Jefferson thing really shouldn’t be bothering him this much, it really shouldn’t. John needed to grow the fuck up for a minute because none of that was his business anyway.

Alex, always oblivious, just sitting next to him buzzingly ready for the day ahead of them.

“Defense may call their first witness,” Washington announced, snapping John’s mind back to the situation at hand.

“Defense calls Emily Pickney to the stand,” Mulligan straightened his tie and stood.

John’s eyes widened, the weight of the situation suddenly hitting him all at once. He turned to look at Alex who was still facing forward. “Her?” He whispered.

“We had to,” Alex replied simply.

“Please state your name for the court,” Mulligan said.

“My name is Emily Laurens Pickney.”

“And your relationship to the defendant?”

“I’m his aunt.”

“On his father’s side?”

“Correct.”

“Would you say you were close with your brother and his family?” Mulligan asked.

“I guess so. We were closer before Eleanor died.”

“The defendant’s mother, Eleanor?”

“Yes.”

“And you babysat the Laurens children fairly regularly, right?”

“I did.”

“Can you describe the children for me? Who they were and their dynamics with one another?”

John bit the inside of his cheek at the mention of his siblings. God, that was a door he didn’t want to open.

Emily just smiled fondly. “Henry is the youngest of the bunch, and he’s always very preoccupied with playing tricks on his sisters. Martha and Mary are twins, they’re sort of in that phase where they want to be unique from one another right now. Martha dyed her hair black and Mary started lightening hers. Little stuff like that. James is the next-oldest, right below John. He’s probably the sweetest, too. He gets overwhelmed easily, but he’s handling it better and better.”

“And the defendant?” Mulligan asked.

“John just kind of kept the rest of them in line. Especially after El died, that all fell on him. He would play video games with the boys sometimes, and he’d talk with the twins but above all I think he was always just really stressed out.”

“Because Henry made him take care of the children once Eleanor died?”

“I guess. He had to grow up too fast. Even at the funeral, he wasn’t allowed to cry. Henry told him he needed to go to the car and pull himself together before he could come back.”

_“It looks bad, John. Take my keys, go to the car, come back when you’re better.”_

_“I-I don’t want to leave her.”_

_“This isn’t about you. Leave.”_

“He wasn’t allowed to cry at his own mother’s funeral?”

“No. No he wasn't."

Mulligan paused and let that sink in to the jury as John shifted uncomfortably. “So, what about Henry himself? Can you describe your relationship with him in particular?”

“He was my brother and I loved him,” she said. “He and Winston, my husband, got along really well. They liked talking politics and whatnot. I don’t really get involved in any of that, but I just appreciated having him over. I’ve worried about him everyday since El died.”

“Why is that?”

“He took it really, really rough. At first he wouldn’t do anything. He’d just sit and stare at the wall; I think he was just so sad sometimes he couldn’t move. He kept saying how he just wanted to be wherever she was."

_"Dad, come eat."_

_"Not hungry, Johnny."_

_"I made supper."_

_"That's great. Go eat it."_

Mulligan paused, unhappy with the sympathy radiating from the room. “But, during and after this grieving, he lost track of his children?”

“At first he didn’t, but he just started doing less and less. He got more into his work and got elected and from then on he didn’t have any time for family. I don’t think he ever really got better, I just think he got so absorbed in his work he didn’t have time to think about it.”

_“Where were you? You missed Mary’s dance recital.”_

_“Working.”_

_“You made her cry, you realize that?”_

_“I’m a politician, John. I make a lot of people cry. I’ll talk to her later.”_

“He had other ways of coping though, didn’t he?” Mulligan prompted.

“He drank,” Emily nodded. “I never realized how much, but I knew he did.”

“Drinking kind of runs in the family, doesn’t it? Can you tell us about your father, Mrs. Pickney?”

“There’s not much to say. Our father drank a lot.”

“Was he violent?”

“He was.”

“Did you ever witness your father beating Henry Laurens?”

“Yes.”

“Regularly?”

“Yes.”

John turned to face Alex, who met his eyes. John’s face was helpless, eyes wide and hurt. Alex just put a hand on his knee. They’d talk about this later.

“Now, because of the abuse he faced as a child,” Mulligan continued. “He’s about four times more likely to abuse his own children. That’s a statistic. Do you believe Henry Laurens fell into the same pattern as your father?”

“I always hoped not, but the more I learn, the more I understand.”

“And how did you feel when you learned the defendant killed your brother?”

“Shocked, I guess,” she said unsteadily. “I sort of still am. But I pieced it together, and I don’t believe John would’ve done that if he had any other choice. It’s not in his nature.”

“And, in case the jury didn’t know, Mrs. Pickney is the one who hired Mr. Hamilton and I to represent the defendant in this trial. She did it anonymously at first, but later revealed herself to testify. So, if you don’t mind me asking, Mrs. Pickney, why would you support the man who murdered your brother?”

“Like I said, I think he didn’t have a choice. I don’t think money or greed was involved, I think he was in danger. And, looking back on it, there’s a lot I could’ve done,” tears sprung to her eyes. “There’s a lot I could’ve done to help him, but I didn’t. There were a lot of times I could’ve stood up for him, but I never did. Maybe it’s too late, but I want to fight for him now. I figure he deserves that much.”

John swallowed thickly and bit his lip, shifting his thigh from under Alex’s hand.

“Thank you, Mrs. Pickney. The defense rests.”

“The state may cross examine at this time,” Washington called as Mulligan returned to his seat.

“Yes, your honor,” Jefferson said, getting up to approach the stand.

“Forgive me if I’ve overstepped my boundaries here, but you seem to be getting a bit emotional. May I ask why that is?” Jefferson asked, his voice deceptively sympathetic.

She wiped her eyes on a tissue. “I just feel a little guilty.”

Jefferson smiled. “Understandable. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, it is not uncommon for witnesses to realize they’ve taken the wrong side whilst on the stand—“

“Objection, your honor,” Alex called. “Inference improper.”

“Overruled,” Washington said.

“The prosecution is putting words in her mouth, your honor,” Alex protested.

“Sit down, Mister Hamilton,” Washington warned.

“As I was saying, it’s not uncommon for the witness to feel some guilt about the side they’ve chosen. Which is understandable. It makes sense for the sister of the decedent to have some reservations about speaking up on behalf of his killer—“

“That’s not what I—“

“Please don’t interrupt me, Mrs. Pickney,” Jefferson smiled. “You’ll speak when spoken to. That's the way this works.”

She just nodded silently.

“I just find it hard to swallow that you’re testifying on behalf of the defense,” he said. “Because, for you in this case, you’re either _for_ your brother or you’re _against_ him. So this begs the question: why would you want his killer to walk free?”

“Objection, your honor. Inflammatory speech,” Alex called.

“Overruled.”

Jefferson glanced at Alex, irritated, before continuing. “Do you believe it was okay for the defendant to shoot your brother twice in the stomach?”

“I think—“

“Objection,” Alex called again. “Confusion of issues.”

“Overruled.”

"Are you aware, Mrs. Pickney, that the defendant was recently inserted back into his father's will after two years of being excluded from it?"

"I never asked Henry about his will."

"Well then clearly there's a lot more to this than you understand," Jefferson smiled condescendingly. "Do you know how much money Henry Laurens left in his will?"

"No."

"Four million," Jefferson took a dramatic pause. "And he was murdered a week after he added the defendant's name into the will."

"Objection, your honor," Alex stood. "Inference improper. The timing is—“

"Overruled."

Jefferson continued fast. "You said it yourself: you may have been close to the other Laurens children, but not John himself. You wouldn't know enough about his true character to make an educated guess as to whether or not he'd kill for money, do you?"

"Objection," Alex called again, making Jefferson whip his head around. "He's backing her into a corner."

"That's not a legitimate objection and you know it!" Jefferson hissed.

"Sustained," Washington interrupted.

Jefferson rolled his eyes and continued. "Alright, let's take a different route," he turned to face Emily. "Allow me to tell you exactly what happens when one gets shot in the stomach,” Jefferson offered, walking to Madison for his papers.

“Objection, your honor,” Alex called. “Badgering the witness.”

“Overruled.”

Alex sighed indignantly.

“As I was saying, Mrs. Pickney,” Jefferson smiled. “When one gets shot in the stomach, a number of things happen. The bullet enters the body at such a high velocity, that anything within it’s general vicinity is ruptured. For your brother, that meant the celiac artery and the spleen, it also fractured his spine on the way out—“

“Objection,” Alex called. “Irrelevant.”

Jefferson looked over at Alex and almost snarled.

“Explain, Mr. Hamilton,” Washington hummed.

“Irrelevant in the sense that we’re here to hold a trial, not to discuss biology with a character witness.”

“Sustained.”

“Finally,” Alex mumbled under his breath.

“But your honor,” Jefferson said, not missing a beat. “This is leading up to a key question in my testimony. As Mr. Hamilton said, she’s a character witness. In order for her to make an informed answer I need to educate her on exactly what happened that night.”

Washington sighed and paused. The courtroom was silent except for the low hum of fluorescent lights.

“Objection repealed.”

“Thank you, your honor,” Jefferson said. “Now, as I was saying, when Henry saw the gun, his adrenaline would’ve kicked in, taking his heart rate to over 150 beats per minute. The heart's contractions would lead to every entry and exit wound pumping out his blood at more than 150 pumps her minute, along with whatever else fell out of his stomach. With every breath, his body would be filling with fluid; he’d be actively drowning in his own blood. He would’ve been very, very aware he was dying.”

By this time Emily had gone pale and Alex was worriedly bouncing his knee up and down.

“If you would’ve seen your brother, covered in his own guts on the floor of his kitchen, choking on blood, would you have the heart to tell him he deserved it? Would you think even for a second that anyone would be justified in doing this to him?”

“Objection, witness incompetence. She cannot comment on the morality of—“

“Overruled, Mister Hamilton. Sit down.”

“Yes, your honor.”

Emily was crying at this point. Mulligan put his head in his hands, assuming the worst. Jefferson had turned her, and she was as good as their witness now. As much as Alex wanted to be upset, he understood.

“Mrs. Pickney? We’re waiting for an answer,” Jefferson said. “Do you believe what the defendant did to your brother was in any way justifiable?”

She looked up, a look of pure determination that Alex swore he’d seen on another Laurens family member mirrored in her eyes. “Yes.”

Mulligan looked up at her in almost shock, Alex just grinned smugly. Emily Pickney was kind of a bad bitch.

“Mrs. Pickney, do you realize what you’re saying to me right now? To the world?”

“I do.”

“You’re okay with your nephew murdering your brother with his own gun in his own house with no definitive proof of a prior argument or struggle?”

“Under these circumstances, I am.”

“Let me remind you that you have no way of knowing the circumstances surrounding the murder. You didn’t even live in the house at the time. So I believe—“

“Due respect, but I believe I know more about my family than you do, Mister Jefferson.”

“Goddamn,” Mulligan whispered under his breath.

“I’m sure you do,” Jefferson continued. “The thing is, it’s a tad suspicious that you’d come out of the shadows at the last second and defend the man who murdered your brother. The very same brother that, as children, would get _beaten_ by his father so you didn’t have to face it.”

“What is it you’re trying to prove here?”

“I just want justice, is all.”

“And the money that comes with it, I’m sure,” Emily said.

“Mrs. Pickney.“

“Mr. Jefferson.”

“It is your civic duty to cooperate with me whilst on the witness stand, are you aware of that?”

“Yes. I am also aware that you exploiting the death of my brother is inexcusable and I have no reason to justify anything to the likes of _you_.”

At this point even Washington’s eyes were widened. The entire court room fell into an uncomfortable, almost comical silence.

Alex’s mouth dropped, Mulligan was absolutely giddy in his seat, and even John was wide eyed.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Alex whispered.

Jefferson, knowing when he was defeated, just sighed and said, “The state rests.”

 

 

“I’m not sure which was better,” Alex said, plopping himself down in a swivel chair in their HQ. “Jefferson getting told the fuck off by John’s aunt, or the fact that it’s broadcasted on national TV. That shit’s gonna go viral.”

“I’ve never seen a witness do that,” Mulligan blinked. “I can’t believe Washington didn’t stop her.”

“I think he was as shocked as we were,” Alex laughed. “I knew she was on our side, but I didn’t realize she was absolutely rock solid. This is exactly what we needed.”

“She’s a badass,” John grinned fondly. “I didn’t realize that until recently, but she sure is.”

Lafayette came through the door laughing their ass off. “You should’ve seen them on their way out of the courtroom!” They said. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of them quite that pissed off in a long time.”

“Even Madison?” Mulligan asked.

“ _Especially_ Madison. He doesn’t talk a lot, but I wouldn’t want to hear what he has to say about what happened out there,” Laf said, then turned to John. “Want some water, mi amour? You don’t look well.”

Alex and Mulligan looked over at John curiously.

“No thanks, Laf,” he said soflty. “I’m good.”

Alex tilted his head, still oblivious as to what exactly Laf thought was wrong with John.

"Are you?" Laf raised their eyebrows.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” John smiled and nodded. “Tired. Want to go back to the prison and take a nap.”

“You sure you don’t want lunch first?” Mulligan offered.

“Not hungry,” John laughed dryly, rising and walking to the door. “See y’all.”

When the door shut behind him, Alex tilted his head and Mulligan raised an eyebrow. “The fuck was that?”

“That was weird, right? Like, it’s not just me,” Alex asked.

“No, he’s weird,” Laf agreed. “He may just be tired, though. He’s not used to these sorts of situations.”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed soflty, telling himself that’s all it was. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

 

 

“We brought pizza, mon lion,” Laf gently shook Alex awake from his nap. “It’s dinner time.”

Alex threw the covers off his face and blinked against the light coming from the doorway. He had taken a nap when they got home in an effort to relieve the sick feeling in his stomach. As soon as consciousness returned, so did the sickness.

“What time is it?” Alex asked sleepily.

“Around 8,” Laf said, backing out of the room. “Come eat!”

Alex groaned but sat up, reaching his arms above his head and stretching. He looked down at the white tank top he was wearing and cringed at the way it revealed his shape.

He dipped his head and put his hair up into a messy bun, threw on a t-shirt and a sweater, then walked out of his room to greet his roommates who were already cuddling on the couch eating a pizza.

Idly Alex wondered if they were an item yet, but kept it to himself. None of his business.

“It’s sitting on the stove,” Laf called from the couch.

“Thanks.”

Alex hovered over the pizza box and took a bite from a slice of pepperoni.

 _John_. That fucking kid was still on his mind and he couldn't shake it. After Laf pointed it out, he could see it. There was something wrong there.

“Come watch Chopped,” Herc yelled out. “Shit’s going down."

“Alright,” Alex agreed, walking slowly to the couch and taking a seat at the opposite end.

He sat there picking at his piece of pizza until Mulligan interrupted their comfortable silence. “Duty calls,” he said, standing and scampering over to the bathroom. “Pause the show!”

Laf laughed and pressed pause on their remote. “He’s a mess,” they said fondly.

Alex just nodded lightly, chest still heavy with the weight of it all.

“Are you alright, mon lion?” Laf asked, scooting closer to Alex’s side of the couch.

“Yeah,” Alex assured, offering up a fake smile.

“Are you upset about our friend Laurens?”

Alex looked at Laf, big brown eyes wise beyond their years. “Yeah.”

“Why?” Laf asked softly.

“There's something wrong.”

"I know."

"And I don't know what it is."

“Neither do I,” Laf placed a comforting arm around their friend. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think you should go talk to him. Exercise that counsel/patient privilege and go see him first thing in the morning.”

_Counsel/patient privilege. Huh._

“That’s… that’s actually really smart.”

“Isn’t everything I say?” Laf laughed.

“Thanks, Laf,” Alex smiled, and rose out from under their arm.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Counsel/patient privilege! I’m going to the prison.”

“Not now!” Laf stood in protest. “It’s almost 9:00.”

“Love ya, Laf!” Alex called, shutting the door behind him.

 

 

Alex paced back and forth in the interrogation room, waiting for John.

They had put them in the interrogation room because it was private. It wasn’t wide open like the visiting space was. Plus, visiting hours were long over.

“Alex? What are you doing here?” John asked from the doorway.

Alex paused and took in the sight in front of him. He hadn't seen John in prison garb in a while and it was mildly unsettling.

“Well, I mean, I could’ve done this over text, I guess," Alex muttered, running a hand through his hair. "But given the circumstances, that’s not really possible,” Alex laughed nervously.

“Are you alright?”

“What? Yeah. Yeah I’m fine. Here, come sit down,” Alex said, pulling a seat out for John.

“Okay.”

“So,” Alex said, situating himself in front of John. “So, today. After the testimony, you were kind of weird. And, I mean, there’s really no normal way to act in situations like these, but I have to ask because it was bothering me.”

“I was bothering you?” John raised an eyebrow.

“I just feel like something’s up and you’re not talking,” Alex sighed. “Maybe I’m being stupid but I can’t sleep without making sure you’re alright.”

“Wow,” John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s... that’s pretty gay, Alex.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Alex laughed. “Seriously though. You can’t tell me I’m overreacting. You didn’t stay and eat with us—which you always do. You hardly said anything and maybe I wasn’t supposed to bring this up but you looked pretty distressed the whole time your aunt was speaking.”

John’s face twisted up in what Alex could only assume was an actor’s smile. “You came all the way here for that?”

“For you.”

“Well, thank you,” John said graciously. “But I’m fine. Just tired.”

“I’m not leaving till you tell me what’s wrong,” Alex blurted.

“What?”

“I’ll stay here all night, I don’t give a fuck,” Alex crossed his arms. “Try me.”

“What, you really think you can out-stubborn me?” John raised his eyebrows.

“Sweetie, I _know_ I can out stubborn you,” Alex winked.

“Fine, then,” John said, and kicked his feet up on the table. “Better get comfortable.”

“I will,” Alex said, standing up out of his chair and shrugging his sweater off. He piled it on the floor and laid down with his head on top of it. “Cozy as shit.”

“Hmm,” John bit his lip to keep from smiling.

“Yup.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

 _You’re a goddamn adult, Alexander,_ he thought, snuggling into the cold, hard floor. _This is absurd._

John sat with his feet on the table, eyes trained on Alex. _When did this become a game?_

Alex checked his phone periodically. 10 minutes. 20 minutes. 30. 45. _I can’t goddamn take this,_ he thought, shifting to sit up.

“John.”

“Yes?” John looked up and smiled politely.

“Tell me what’s up.”

“What’s up is that you’re about to spend the night in prison, tiger,” John winked.

Alex considered his situation, breathed in deep, and took the low road.

“You know I stayed up all last night mapping things out for your aunt, right? And we both know I won’t be able to lawyer well tomorrow if I spend all night on the floor. You’re not only hurting yourself, you’re hurting _me_.”

“Are you attempting to manipulate me, Alexander?” John asked.

Alex just pitifully sat up, jutted his bottom lip out, and gave John his best puppy dog eyes.

“Damn,” John muttered under his breath.

_Was he looking at my lips? He was definitely looking at my lips._

John seemed to shake his head a bit and break the small moment. “Alex I’m really not in the mood to ruin your night with my personal bullshit.”

“You won’t ruin my night.“

“Tell you what," John leaned up. "I’ll talk if you promise to not tell anyone and don’t give me those puppy dog eyes anymore. Deal?”

“Deal,” Alex nodded immediately.

“Alright,” John said, brushing his hair back behind his ear. “So, here’s how today went from my side of things. You bring in Aunt Em, which, it’s fine, whatever. I knew you’d have to drag somebody I love into this. I don’t like it, but I understand it.

“Now, she testifies. And she starts spewing all this personal shit about me that, frankly, I’d rather not have out in the world. She brought up the funeral, you remember that? And she talked about the kids. And now every house with a TV knows all this shit and I don’t like it, okay? It makes me uncomfortable. Maybe you’re cool with it but I’m not.

“She,” John paused and looked off to the side, seeming to catch his breath. “She…” he let out a breath and put his head in his hands, trying to shake off whatever he was feeling. “Nobody told me that, okay?”

“Told you what?” Alex spoke up.

John looked up and clenched his jaw, eyes set on a random corner of the room. “Nobody told me he got hit when he was a kid,” John said, voice unsteady. “I didn’t know.”

Alex stood and walked over to him. “I don’t think he wanted you to know.”

“No, Alex, you don’t understand,” John laughed dryly. “The same thing happened to him when he was a kid. And he dealt with it. He dealt with it and I couldn’t.”

“John—“

“He dealt with it and handled me the only way he knew how and now he’s dead because I was too fucking dumb about it,” John choked out, still not meeting Alex’s eyes. “Because I couldn’t take it.”

“It’s not that you couldn’t take it. It’s that you had to defend yourself.”

John let his head fall in his hands as his shoulders started to shake silently. Alex sat next to him and rubbed his back while John tried to compose himself.

“He took me to baseball games, you know that?” He whispered.

“What?” Alex asked.

“He hated sports, but he took me because I always wanted to go,” John sat up and looked at the man in front of him. “And he used to bring me back candy every time they got groceries without me. And he sat up with me after I watched Friday the 13th because I was too scared to sleep.”

Tears were steadily running down John’s face, and Alex reached out and wiped his cheek gently.

“And now I know,” John said. “Now I know he wasn’t the bad person. I am.”

“Anybody willing to hit their kid like that is a piece of shit,” Alex said. “I know you loved him, but I’ve read over this situation backwards and forwards. There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“I could’ve let him win,” John said. “I could’ve let him kill me. Why didn’t I? I spent all this time wanting to die—“

“John, you can’t do this to yourself.”

“I have to go,” John stood up to walk to the door and began pulling desperately on the handle, doing his best to get himself out. He began to beat on the door, before Alex came up behind him and pulled him away.

“Where are you going?” He asked gently.

“I don’t know,” John started crying again, sinking down onto the floor. “I don’t know I don’t know—“

“Shh,” Alex said, putting an arm around him. “You’re okay.”

“’m not,” John whimpered. “I’m not.”

“I’ve got you,” Alex said, running a hand through the younger man’s hair. “You’re safe.”

John’s desperate pants eventually turned into full blown tears. They sat curled around one another, backs against the wall, trying to steady themselves. Eventually the tears died down as the energy started to leave John’s body.

Somewhere between thirty minutes and two hours after John went for the door, he fell silent and curled up fully against Alex, hand grasping uselessly at the collar of his shirt. Alex closed his eyes and took it in. Smelled the scent that was just _John,_ felt the rough texture of his curls, let the moment take him over for a bit.

Eventually, John started to shiver.

“You cold?” Alex whispered into John’s hair.

“Yeah,” John whispered hoarsely.

“Here,” Alex leaned way too far over and grabbed desperately for his bundled up gray sweater on the floor. John smiled lightly at his lame attempts and broke from his embrace to go grab the clothing. When he got back, he just handed it to Alex.

“It’s yours,” Alex said, then paused. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” John said, wiping the tears off his face with the back of his hands. “Yeah I’m good.”

“Do we need to talk about this?”

John smiled shyly and pulled the sweater over his head, shaking his hair out of the top. “About your sweater?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I think I’ve pretty much said what I have to say, to be honest.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Okay.”

“John.”

“I said okay. Seriously, Alex. We’re cool.”

Alex paused skeptically. “Fine.”

“Fine,” John replied.

When he looked back down at Alex, who’s heart was swelling three times it’s normal size, he grinned, face puffy and tear stains still decorating his cheeks.

_God, you’re beautiful._

“Suits you,” Alex said.

“Thanks,” John said, sitting back down and taking his spot next to Alex again. “Got it from some shaggy haired Puerto Rican lawyer.”

“Well he sounds _gorgeous_ ,” Alex said playfully. “You’ll have to set us up one day.”

“Nah,” John said lightly, blushing slightly and not meeting Alex’s eyes. “I know somebody who’s already got their eye on him.”

“Who?” Alex asked.

“Some freckled teenage convict,” John shrugged. “I don’t know, sounds shady if you ask me.”

Alex opened his mouth to speak but was left speechless.

John’s face registered a quick _oh God I fucked up_ look before he backtracked completely.

“I’m sorry,” John let out a nervous laugh. “I’m just kidding. Forget I said that, please.”

 _I don’t wanna,_ Alex thought helplessly.

“Okay.”

 

 

_“Well that was a trip,” Henry said, clicking the TV off. “Not the best father-son bonding show, but, hey, better than nothing.”_

_“Yeah, I guess so,” John said._

_“I would’ve never sent you away,” Henry said, turning to face his son sincerely. “I want you to know that.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“Look, I know you’re not queer no more,” he said. “And you’re probably tired of hearing about it, but I just want you to see that I’m not that unfair, alright? We did what we had to do and now you’re better than ever and you’re even dating that Maria girl.”_

_“Why are you bringing this up, Dad?” John asked tiredly._

_“A gay rights bill came up today and it just got me thinking. We wouldn’t have this problem if everybody cut it off at the root like us. We wouldn’t have a bunch of liberal nonsense rallying around what’s basically rights for the mentally ill,” he took another sip of his drink. “It’s fucked up. You think so, Jackie?”_

_Please don’t ask me to agree with you, John thought. I can’t do this._

_“I think it’s fucked up to deny basic human rights to people, if that’s what you mean,” John said, head spinning at his sudden braveness. “I think it’s fucked up to say they’re mentally ill for loving who they want to.”_

_His father paused, calmly went to set his drink on the table beside him, and looked at his son. “You’re telling me you support all that?” He said softly._

_“I support love. And love is love,” John tried to shrug nonchalantly._

_“Not if it’s between two men it’s not,” his father said, growing tense. “Jackie, are you drunk or something?”_

_“No, I’m not drunk,” John shifted, the alcohol in his system humming. “But I’m pretty gay, in case you were wondering.”_

_The room fell dead silent. Henry Laurens rose to his feet slowly, calmly. His face expressing something between confusion and anger, he shook his head incredulously. “What?”_

_“I still like boys,” John swallowed. “And I’m leaving for NYU in just a few days but let me go ahead and get this all out in the open.”_

_“You’re telling me you’ve been a faggot this whole time?” Henry whispered dangerously. “All this time I let you alone in my house with my kids?”_

_John paused, head reeling. “I know you’re not implying what I think you are—“_

_“You said it yourself, Jack. You’re a queer. We all know the kind of shit your type gets up to in your free time.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_“I’m taking the boys to the doctor first thing in the morning,” Henry said. “See if they can find any signs of sexual abuse on them. And if they do, I’ll goddamn shoot you in the head, you understand me? If I find out you’ve been touching my kids—“_

_“What the fuck?!” John yelled. “Is this a joke?”_

_“I’m not laughing.”_

_“You honestly think I’d do that?”_

_“I know you stay up real late with James,” his father said, piecing things together. “And he’s real close to you. Both the boys are, the girls not so much. But, James in particular. You spend a lot of time together.”_

_“Because you don’t have any fucking time to spend with him—with any of them!” John yelled. “So you put it all on me!”_

_“And I thought I could trust you with it, but clearly not if you spend your nights raping my so—“_

_John reached out and punched his father in the jaw. Henry 's head moved, pliant and drunk, but he stayed still on his feet. He turned to John and saw red. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” he whispered, taking his son and wrapping a hand around his throat._

 

 

 _This kid’s gonna kill me,_ Alex thought, pecking away at his keyboard.

Alex had opted out of going back home that night and had instead gone straight to the office to prepare more for the following day in court.

A few of John’s school pictures littered the table he was at as he made a comprehensive list of what exactly they needed to cover in this trial. He had four pictures, from his freshman year all the way to senior year. He had the same wide smile and freckles in every one, and Alex felt his heart flutter looking at the most recent of the bunch.

It was funny how just a few months earlier none of this meant anything to him. Just some notes and pictures of another kid they were trying to keep out of the pen. But suddenly it’s not just some kid it’s _John._ And whether or not John actually gave a shit about him was up for debate. All Alex knew was that he cared about John and he was gonna do everything in his power to keep him safe.

Which, admittedly, would be a whole hell of a lot easier if Herc would move his ass down to the office and do some of the fucking paperwork for a change. It’s not that Herc was lazy, it’s just that—well, okay, he’s kind of fucking lazy. And it usually doesn’t irk Alex as much but it’s the unholy hours of the morning and Alex is fresh out of his brew and he has enough paperwork to drown fucking Aquaman. Herc was an amazing lawyer and an even better friend, but _fuck_ Alex wished he’d get off his ass and contribute.

He picked up his phone to text his partner pictures of his notes so far, but set it back down. They’d go over it later. If all else failed, Alex could take over the questioning completely. It wasn’t a big deal.

Alex paused as his phone lit up in his hands with an unknown number. Okay, he probably, definitely, for sure should not take this call. The odds of it being some godforsaken TV network or newspaper were astronomical and he so wasn’t in the mood to give the media any “inside scoops” before the jury got them.

But, well, he was bored. And his ringtone was getting on his nerves, so he answered.

“This is Hamilton,” he answered.

“Um, hello?” A male voice said.

“It’s almost two in the morning and I’m in the middle of prepping for the biggest case of my life. You’ve called me at my least convenient time and you have two minutes before I hang up,” Alex snipped. “Start talking.”

 

 

 

“What has two thumbs and is tired of looking at these damn Christmas lights?” Herc asked playfully, eyeing the lights still hanging in the HQ with distaste. “This guy.”

“I think they’re festive, especially with Christmas coming up,” Laf said.

“It’s the middle of November.”

“November is pre-Christmas,” Laf said matter-of-factly. “Boys, what do you think?”

John spun around in his swivel chair long enough to look at the lights thoughtfully. “I like ‘em.”

“Same,” Alex said from behind his laptop.

“You’re outnumbered,” Laf smirked at Herc. “Deal with it.”

“Need a rep to sign the morning case docs,” some guy in a suit poked his head in the doorway. “The prosecution is waiting.”

“Well god forbid Jefferson get those magenta pants in a bunch,” Herc said. “I’ll go. Laf, you come with me.”

“You can’t order me around—“

“I’ll buy you crepes from that bakery down the street.”

“Deal.”

“You’re weak, Lafayette,” Alex called after them before the door closed.

He and John sat in silence as Alex continued to peck away at his keyboard. Eventually, John felt a wad of paper hit the back of his head.

He grabbed the wad and spun around slowly to face Alex. He raised his eyebrows silently and held up the paper.

“Hey, John,” Alex stage-whispered. “I’m bored.”

“And?” John asked. “The fuck you want me to do about it?”

“Entertain meee,” Alex said, pitifully drawing out the ‘me.’

“We have a court case to win,” John threw the paper back at Alex.

“They’re already half an hour late. Probably some Jefferson bullshit. Either way, I’m bored and we’re clearly not going in there anytime soon.”

John chewed on his lip for a moment, considering the circumstances. “Alright fine. What were you thinking?”

“We can scroll through Facebook and cyber bully my old teacher John Adams—“

“Absolutely not.”

“We can do charades,” John made a distasteful face. “Or Pictionary, I know you’re good at art. There’s I-Spy--”

“Like, ‘I spy with my little eye’…?”

“Yup.”

“Let’s do it,” John smiled.

“This room is a little too dull for that,” Alex said hesitantly.

“Then find a way to make it interesting. You go first.”

“Alright fine,” Alex considered, scanning the room. “I spy with my little eye something brown.”

John tilted his head. “The table?”

“Warmer.”

“Your shoes?”

“My shoes are black, dumbass.”

“That’s a hate crime,” John announced. “What is it?

“The left corner of the table.”

“I guessed the table!” John shrieked.

“Not the left corner.”

“Fuck off, I get that point,” John commented.

“Who said we were keeping score?” Alex laughed.

“I’m too competitive to play anything for fun.”

“Fine then,” Alex smiled. “John-1. Alex-0. Your turn.”

“I spy with my little eye… something short.”

“Short?”

“Short.”

“Hmm,” Alex said, stroking his facial hair dramatically. “Something short… my coffee mug?”

“No, but thanks for reminding me,” John reached across Alex to get his mug and take a sip. “Keep guessing.”

“Short… hmm. The bulbs on the Christmas lights?”

“Nope.”

“My cufflinks?”

“Nope.”

“The worn down pencil over there?”

“Keep trying.”

“I give up.”

John opened his mouth in shock. “You mean the mighty Alexander Hamilton is giving up on something?”

“Fuck off. It’s 10 a.m. and you’re drinking all my morning brew, I have a right to not be my sharpest right now. What was it?”

“You,” John smirked.

“Me?” Alex said, mouth dropping. “That’s offensive!”

“That’s life, buddy. Not my fault you’re vertically challenged.”

“Fine then,” Alex took his mug from John’s hands. “I spy something fucking rude.”

“I spy something loud-mouthed,” John sat up in his seat.

“I spy something skinny and mean,” Alex matched John, both sitting on the edge of their seat, faces competitively close.

“I spy something Puerto Rican and lazy,” John retorted.

“I spy something Puerto Rican and _crazy_ ,” Alex said.

“I spy something with greasy hair.”

“I spy something with a rat’s nest on their head,” Alex glared.

“I spy something with a big nose.”

“I spy something with too many freckles.”

“I spy somebody who needs to shut the fuck up,” John said.

“I spy somebody who needs to _make me_ ,” Alex shot back, looking John in the eyes.

John, without thinking twice, just went for it, closing the space between their heads and putting his lips on Alex’s. Alex was tense and unmoving against John’s lips, not sure if this was really happening. John, desperate for some response, cupped a tender hand across Alex’s jaw. Surrounded by sounds and smells that were so utterly _John_ he didn’t have time to think, Alex complied, loosening and letting himself kiss back.

The moment happened and was gone all in one breath, it felt like. They parted, looking at each other with wide eyes, reality seeping into their perfect daydream one beam of light at a time.

 _We should not have done that,_ John thought helplessly. _That was not supposed to happen._

“Shit,” John said, pulling back completely. “I—I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Don’t,” Alex whispered pleadingly. “Don’t start with that.”

“I’m—“

And, like an addict in withdraw, Alex pulled himself closer to the younger man and kissed him again, tender and barely there. John relented almost immediately, melting into Alex’s tender touch.

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Alex whispered against his lips. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

 _Maybe this is what kissing was always supposed to feel like._ Maybe he was supposed to be so completely absorbed in the other person he couldn’t even think. Maybe Alex actually has some kind of electricity in his veins that just makes people feel absolutely helpless around him.

Alex inexplicably smiled into the kiss, making John’s heart flutter. It was contagious, and Alex caught it as soon as John did. The smiled turned into laughter, the two men giggling like schoolchildren an inch away from each other’s face.

 _This is happy,_ John said in the back of his mind. _This is what that’s like._

By the time John’s guards intervened to bring him out, the two had separated and were chatting softly to one another. When Herc and Laf came in, Alex put his nose back into his computer, not meeting either of their eyes.

“Saw Jefferson,” Herc said, oblivious to Alex’s life changing situation that happened moments before. “He’s looking spry as ever.”

“And by ‘spry’, Herc mean he looks like a total asshole,” Laf corrected.

“What else is new,” Alex mumbled.

“So what were you and John up to?” Herc asked disinterestedly, taking a large bite out of his donut. “We had like an hour and a half to kill and y’all were just cooped up here.”

Alex’s heart dropped. “Ah, you know,” he said, covering quickly. “Mostly just sat and I worked on my notes. We played I-spy for a little bit because I got bored.”

“And who won?” Laf asked.

“Me,” Alex said indefinitely, a secretive smile on his lips. “I most definitely won.”

“Good for you, Ham,” Herc said through a mouthful of donut. “Congrats.”

“Is that a _ll_ you did?” Laf asked, catching on quick.

“Pretty much.”

“Uh-huh,” Laf said skeptically.

“Leave the man alone. Just because he’s actively blushing doesn’t mean they did anything,” Herc said loudly.

Alex found himself wide eyed and defenseless, the red deepening on his face.

“Well, damn, Hercules just put it out there then,” Laf said. “I was trying to be delicate.”

“Yeah, I’m no good at that,” Herc shrugged. “I don’t care what y’all did as long as you didn’t fuck on my briefcase.”

“Nobody fucked anybody!” Alex shrieked, voice straining high. “Can we drop this?”

“I guess,” Laf said.

“Please,” Herc replied.

 

Herc and Alex, as usual, walked into court together and took their seats. Jefferson and Madison were already sitting down waiting.

“Wow, I’ve never seen them not try to be fashionably late,” Alex whispered. “They must be irritated at the delay.”

“Did they ever tell us what the delay was?”

“Nope,” Alex shrugged. “I’m not too curious, to be honest. I had a lot more time to prepare.”

“All rise for the honorable Judge Washington,” the bailiff interrupted.

Washington walked in with his usual grace and made a halfhearted gesture for the court to return to normal.

“Before we bring in the jury, there is one very important matter of business to take care of. Mister Madison, I believe you have some evidence against the defense?”

“Against Mr. Hamilton, your honor.”

“Proceed.”

There were a few confused whispers from the seats behind them. _Because of course these fuckers had to ruin a good day,_ Alex thought. He glanced at the prosecution where Jefferson was sitting still, facing Alex with a smirk.

“State calls Aaron Burr to the stand.”

Alex’s mouth dropped as Aaron Burr entered the courtroom and approached the witness stand, not meeting his eyes.

“Objection, your honor,” Mulligan called, enraged. “Everything irrelevant.”

“This isn’t actual court-time, Mr. Mulligan. The jury isn’t present. This is between us.”

“But your honor--” Mulligan tried.

“I’ll hold you in contempt, Mister Mulligan. Bite your tongue,” Washington warned.

Herc just nodded and side eyed Alex.

He slid a note across their table, _The fuck did you do???_

 _I don’t know,_ Alex wrote back.

“Permission to approach the stand?” Madison asked.

“Granted.”

Madison crossed and handed Washington a handful of papers. Alex couldn’t make out what any of them were.

“We have proof that Mr. Hamilton is not qualified to be a lead lawyer in this trial,” Madison said, looking Alex dead in the eye. “We’ve seen the shenanigans he’s pulled, expecting there to be no consequences. As it turns out, it’s all a product of gross inexperience. Mr. Burr, will you please explain why Mr. Hamilton needs to be removed from the defense as soon as possible?”

Burr smiled and started speaking. “As he revealed to me over dinner several weeks ago, Mr. Hamilton is not actually a lawyer,” he announced.

_“Aren’t you already practicing?”_

_“Well, yes. But it’s technically an apprenticeship.”_

“He’s currently an _apprentice_. He hasn’t wrapped up law school, only pre-law,” Burr continued. “This is a first-degree murder case in the state of New York. He’s not qualified to be here, and he’s definitely not qualified to be a lead defense attorney.”

_“But your name is in the company.”_

_“A very involved apprenticeship.”_

“What I have here is proof that Mr. Hamilton has not completed his law degree,” Washington said, looking at Alex. “While what you’ve done is technically legal and I can’t disregard any statements you’ve already made, I can and I will remove you from this trial effective immediately.”

_“It’s not my fault you’re still broken up about the pamphlet. We were friends, but I did the right thing, I spoke my mind.”_

_“That’s going to get you into a lot of trouble one day, Alexander.”_

_“I welcome it.”_

“But, your honor—“ Alex tried.

“Now, Mister Mulligan, you do have options,” Washington said. “You may request a further investigation into this matter, which is highly ill-advised. Or, you may opt for a replacement. Mister Burr has disclosed to us this morning that he is fully qualified to be your partner for the duration of this trial.”

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Alex jeered.

The bailiff approached the defense’s desk and held an arm out to Alex. “Let’s do this the easy way, huh?” He whispered.

“Like hell we’re doing this the easy way,” Alex stood and slammed his palms on the desk. “What authority does some second-rate, lower class wannabe DA have to come into _my_ trial and question _my_ aptitude for any of this? Burr isn’t—“

“Mister Hamilton, don’t make me use force.”

“You’ll need all the force you can get to drag me out of here. I’m not worried about my image, I’m honestly worried for the future of American law if you keep letting no-names from off the street waltz in and mess up a high profile third degree murder trial. It’s not my fault he’s upset about me and Theo—HEY!“

Alex was cut off as the bailiff and two court cops grabbed his arms, situated them behind his back, and started escorting him out.

“You’re making a mistake!” Alex yelled, struggling. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Burr!”

When the door closed behind them, all was silent.

“So you’re telling me Burr wants to take Mister Hamilton’s place?” Herc asked.

“I’m saying he’s qualified and if you’re going to seek help, he’d be among the only people I’d consider letting into this trial,” Washington replied.

“And what if I continue alone?” Herc asked.

“It’s your case, Mister Mulligan. For the sake of your client, I believe the answer is clear, but I’ll leave it up to you.”

Herc paused. On one hand, Alex would never speak to him again if he brought Burr into this. On the other, Alex wants John to have a chance, and Burr is one hell of a lawyer.

Herc breathed deep, said a quick prayer to whatever higher power watches over this sort of thing, and made the decision.

“If Mister Burr would like to be my new partner, I’ll invite him to join the defense.”

“I gladly accept that invitation,” Burr smiled.

“You have two days to brief Mister Burr,” Washington said shortly. “Adjourned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright my bad. Couldn’t help it. There was too much goodness in that lams kiss and I had to heck some stuff up. BURR IS BACK, BITCHES.
> 
> Next chapter, prepare for: BURR AS PART OF THE DEFENSE, who was that phonecall Alex got??? Oh my friends be ready for tears, sad times with Alex Hamilton tm, more lame literature references?? Idk y’all. We’re on this ride together.
> 
> I changed the title, btw, in case anybody didn't notice. Long story short, I'm taking a foresnics class and murders are crimes against 'the people' AND 'the state', but mostly the people. Also the latter sounds so dramatic, ya feel?
> 
> MAYASCHUYLER IS THA HOMIE WITH THA PROMPT IN CASE Y’ALL FORGOT.
> 
> This will hopefully wrap up in the next two chapters?? Like the boys only have two more witnesses. And idk if I’ll do an epilogue of sorts. Kind of want to. Also this is posted on my birthday so happy adulthood to me here’s angsty gays as my gift to you all.
> 
> Comments make me roll over, die a lil, then write some more. So keep those lovely words and kudos coming my friends they make me so happy.
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	5. The Minor Fall

Herc was reeling.

He delicately loosened the tie around his neck as he stepped out of the courtroom. He dialed Alex’s number, straight to voicemail. He walked to the HQ and called him another four times, straight to voicemail each time. Each time he left a more desperate plea.

 

“Hey, it’s me. It’s Herc. I was calling to ask where you are. Call me back as soon as you can.”

 

“Alex? Listen, I know you’re upset, and we need to talk. You know where to find me.”

 

“Okay, if you don’t want to talk to me that’s fine, call Lafayette and talk to them. Just don’t go under, okay? Okay, Alex? I don’t like this anymore than you do, but it’s the way the cookie crumbles. I need you.”

 

“I’m leaving the courthouse right now. I’ll be out all night looking for you if I have to. Okay? Okay, bye.”

 

“Please pick up the phone.”

 

He was panicking now, scooping his materials into his briefcase in one swipe of his arm and rushing outside, praying the press had died down. He walked out into the hallway to see a swarm of the biggest crowd he’d ever seen in front of a courthouse. He breathed in deep, squared his shoulders, and did what he’d seen Alex do all his life: he dived right on in.

“Mister Mulligan, what happened in there?”

“What’s going to happen to John Laurens?”

“Who is Aaron Burr?”

“Do you have anything to say on behalf of Alexander Hamilton?”

“Why did you break the law?”

“How could you—“

“What do—“

“Mister—“

The voices blurred together into one continuous roar as Herc shoved his way through and into his car. They were blocking him from all angles, so he just rolled his window down an inch and said, “If you don’t want to get hit, get out of my way.” He started driving, effectively moving the press from in front of the car. Amazing what kind of progress you can make when you threaten to run people over.

The car ride was silent, which was always unsettling. He felt off center, like something was missing. He reached to turn the radio on and immediately turned it all the way down. It somehow didn’t feel okay to have music on right then.

Where did Burr go? He’d have to get into contact with him sooner or later, but that wasn’t a priority. Alex was the priority right now. Alex only.

His phone rang through the Bluetooth on his car, nearly making him jump out of his seat. He answered.

“Mulligan.”

“Hercules? Where are you?” Laf’s voice rang through.

Herc’s shoulder’s relaxed from a tenseness he didn’t realize he had.

“You’re at the apartment, right?” He asked.

“Yes. Where are you two?”

“I’m in my car on the way to the office. Have you talked to Alex?”

“No. I tried to call him and he’s not answering. He’s not with you?”

“No,” Herc sighed. “I’m checking the office, and if he’s not there I’ll bullshit my way through Manhattan till I find him.”

“What, he’s just gone?” Laf asked.

“We rode in separate cars this morning, remember? He got there when John did.”

“Right.”

“How’d you get home?”

“Taxi. The press didn’t even glance at me, it’s fine.”

Herc tapped his steering wheel nervously. “Okay. Okay.”

“He’s gonna be fine, Hercules,” Laf read right through Herc. “He always is.”

“But if he’s not,” Herc sighed deeply. “That’s on me. I let him into this trial, and that law Jefferson mentioned? It’s so goddamned _obscure_ , Laf. He was looking for a way to take us down.”

“If it makes you feel any better, judging by the look on Jefferson’s face, he definitely wasn’t expecting Burr to join you.”

“Burr’s a backstabbing son of a bitch,” Herc spat. “Jefferson should know that. He set himself up. Burr is always looking out for Burr. It’s his whole thing.”

“And now you’re working with him,” Laf said.

“Lafayette,” Herc said quickly. “Don’t— don’t come at me with that. When the judge literally recommends something to the counsel, you fucking do it. If Washington asked me to ride an elephant I’d be saddling the fuck up.”

“Does Alex understand that?” 

“Fuck I hope so. If he doesn’t…” Herc trailed off, knowing Laf knew exactly how that sentence was going to end.

“He’s a reasonable man. If he doesn’t get it right now, he will in time.”

“I gotta go,” he reached and hung up the phone before Laf could respond. He already felt like an asshole, might as well add being rude to Laf on that list.

When he got to the office and saw Alex’s car out front, he could have cried from relief. At least he’s here and not out there. At least he’s safe.

Herc dropped his head onto his steering wheel, suddenly feeling about a hundred pounds lighter. He needed to go in, to face Alex and accept whatever it was he was feeling. Dread dripped down his throat and filled his whole heart.

The door was locked, so Herc used his key to get in. He gently opened the door and shut it behind him. Alex, sure enough, was in his office surrounded by papers.

They were strewn out across the floor, in stacks on the desk, both his laptop and his desktop were on and running. He was typing, writing, reading, and filing all within the same breath.

“Alex?” Herc said from the doorway. “What are you doing?”

Alex poked his head up and looked at him expressionless.

“Working."

“On what?”

“Getting things ready for Burr,” he said calmly. “Getting things ready for him to take over.”

“Alex, look, I’m sorry this happened. I didn’t want it to go this way. I had no idea—“

“I’m about as pissed off as I’ve ever been, Herc,” Alex said, still working. “I’m literally simmering in it. I’m mad at Washington and Jefferson and Burr and even _you_ because apparently you’re on their side now.”

Herc felt a sting in his chest, he let Alex’s words float in the air for probably a few minutes. “I did what I could do,” he said. “I did what I thought would help John the most. You can’t be mad at that.”

Alex looked up quick at the mention of John’s name. “Fuck,” he said, reaching for his phone. “Who told John?”

“Nobody that I know of. You’re changing the subject—“

“Because I’m done talking about the previous one.”

“Alex.”

“Herc.”

“I… when you left today, I was worried. I was worried about you because I knew you wouldn’t take it well.”

“Because I was publicly humiliated and betrayed by both my worst enemy _and_ my best friend?” Alex bit back.

“That’d be why.”

“Yeah, I’m not taking it well, but I’m not willing to wallow in it until the end of the trial. When John goes free, I’ll lash out at all of you, deal?”

“I’m not asking you to lash out,” Herc sighed. “I want you to understand. I can’t handle this trial alone. I needed somebody. Washington said Burr was the only person he’d let in, and I made a choice. I’m sorry, Alex.”

Alex paused. He knew Herc’s weaknesses, what made him tick, how he felt about himself. Herc wasn’t lying, he genuinely didn’t think he was good enough to handle this alone.

“Okay,” Alex nodded. “I know you had to do what Washington recommended. I would’ve too.”

Herc smiled a bit. “So we’re okay?”

“Only if you wipe that kicked puppy look off your face and come help me.”

Herc nodded and scurried to Alex’s side. 

“You’re the kicked puppy, here,” he mumbled.

“Thin ice, Mulligan.”

“Fuck off, Hamilton.”

 

 

 

 

 

“I don’t understand—“ John started.

“Your counsel has been changed, this is your new defense attorney. He’s Hercules Mulligan’s new partner.”

John blinked, looking at the smiling man in the consultation room.

“Wait—what happened to Alex Hamilton?” John asked his guard helplessly.

“He’s a scammer. Wasn’t qualified to be in your trial. This is his replacement. Go be friendly,” the man said.

“A scammer?" John asked, bewildered.

"I'm sure ol' smily in there will tell you all about it," the guard said. "Step right in there, please."

John nodded at the guard, happy to have some semblance of a choice in the matter. He looked back at Burr, still smiling that same strained smile. Head spinning, John walked into the counsel consultation quarters.

This is why they sent me away first thing that morning, he thought. They were getting rid of Alex.

“John Laurens,” the man smiled warmly. “Aaron Burr. Pleased to meet you.”

He held out his hand, to which John just stared.

He was tall, dark, and smooth as silk. Alex and Herc came across as friendly, down to earth, and likeable on their first meeting. Burr just came across as calm, collected, and cunning. It made John uneasy.

“Please, take a seat,” Burr said, moving his hand back by his side and gesturing for John to sit.

He did as he was told, not breaking eye contact with Burr.

“Where is Alexander?” John asked right away.

Burr smiled sadly. “He wasn’t qualified to be in your trial. I’m afraid Mulligan had to find a replacement, and the replacement is me.”

"Wasn't qualified?"

"He's still in law school, John. He can't be a lead lawyer in a case like yours," Burr smiled sadly. "It's a shame, but it's the law. It's what people like me are paid to defend. I'm sure you understand."

“Hold on—they just threw him out? Just like that?” John asked skeptically.

"When they got proof, they didn't have a choice."

"What, Washington went to Columbia and got his transcripts or something?"

"Something like that," Burr smiled again, and John knew he was being lied to. 

He knew from experience that one thing that could get a lawyer flustered was silence from their client, so John decided to push a few buttons.

“So, I have a few questions to get us started,” Burr said, taking out a notepad. “How many times have you shot a gun before the night you killed your father?“

John stared at him blankly. Burr played cool, waiting on a reply. 

"You married?" John asked, eyeing Burr's left hand resting on the table.

"Yes, but that's not--"

"Who's the lucky lady?" John asked.

"Maybe we can discuss this later, huh? For right now I need to ask about any past experience you’ve had with lethal weapons,” Burr said calmly.

"Where are Herc and Alex?"

"Alex isn't in this case anymore. I don't know where Herc is."

"But you're his new partner, right?" John asked. "I feel like you should know."

"We've not talked much since the counsel change."

"Great, then neither am I," John smiled. "Bring one or both of them the next time you come or I'm not answering anything. Sorry if that's trouble."

Burr sat still, dazed. "I need your full cooperation--"

"And I don't have to answer anything without proof of a counsel change," John completely made that last part up, but maybe it was true because Burr didn't call him on it. John turned back and signaled for his guard to let him out of the room.

"Have a good day, Mister Burr," John returned the smile he'd seen on Burr's face earlier.

 

 

   

Herc had sent some quick texts to Laf to let them know what was up, how Herc stayed at the office to help Alex get whatever it is done he felt like he needed to do, and when they finally left, they decided to go for tacos.

Things felt a little more normal now, a little less hostile and muddled. They had the radio in the car turned up on the way there, and it was almost like they were back in college. Two massive fuck-ups sitting in a car, B-grade hip-hop in their speakers, Herc needlessly showing off his weirdly beautiful singing voice and rap skills. It was like John Laurens or Thomas Jefferson or Aaron Burr had never even walked in to their life.

Alex blinked against the lights in the restaurant when they pulled up. The sudden florescent lights spilled from the huge windows and straight into their car. The pair got out, took their seat, and ordered what they used to get here after every exam. It was cheap and tasty, and, really, that was all they could ask for, when they were broke college kids and even now. At least they had greasy soft tacos to look forward to.

“Remember the first time we brought Laf to this place?” Herc grinned.

“And they took one look around and decided it was the worst thing they’d ever seen?” 

Alex laughed. “And then we admitted that all of our ‘homemade tacos’ were actually—“

“—just leftover takeout!” Herc finished, snickering. “They were mad as hell.”

“The tacos are good. Even a diva like Laf can’t ignore that.”

“True,” Herc nodded, taking a sip of his soda.

“You talk to John?” Alex asked suddenly.

“Laurens?”

“No, John Stamos. Yes, fucking John Laurens,” Alex retorted.

“Don’t be rude,” Herc threw a crumpled napkin across the table. “No. I didn’t see him after the clusterfuck this morning. I’m sure he knows by now.”

“I should talk to him,” Alex muttered.

“With what counsel/patient privilege?” Herc asked. “You can’t go up there.”

“I can as long as he's not signed the counsel change yet. After that I can go as a visitor, 

within visiting hours.”

“Be my guest, homie,” Herc muttered, greeting the waitress as she came by with their food. He flirted mindlessly, and winked at Alex when she walked away.

"Careful there, slick," Alex grinned. "Watch what you say, I'll tell Laf."

"You won't tell Laf shit," Herc chuckled. "And if you did they'd just criticize my technique, probably. They flirt a lot too."

Alex hummed in agreement, not realizing how hungry he was until he took the first bite of his food. They both sat in a comfortable silence, both too busy stuffing their faces to make any real conversation.

About two tacos in, Alex decided maybe it was time to confess a few things to Herc.

“So, I have something to tell you," he said all in one breath.

Herc raised an eyebrow silently, still chewing.

“So, the other day I got a call at 2 a.m., right. And I answer, because, what the hell? Why not, right? Maybe it's somebody I can fuck with or a news station or something, you know?"

"A news station calling you at 2 a.m.?"

"My story, fuck off."

“Fine, but where are you going with this?"

“It was somebody for John.”

Herc let the words sit in the air for a moment before processing them.

“What do you mean?”

“It was his brother.”

“What?!” Herc practically screamed, drawing the attention of a few nearby customers.

“Shh, you fucking antelope you’ll get us kicked out,” Alex chided, looking around. “I got a call from James Laurens, the next to oldest.”

“And?”

“Well, that’s a long story,” Alex ran a hand through his hair. When's the last time he washed his hair? He should definitely get on that soon. “He’s been in the hospital, apparently. He’s got some mental issues he’s working through and this whole thing hasn’t helped.”

“So why did he call you?”

“He wants to testify.”

“You’re kidding me,” Herc let the soft taco drop from his hands with a comical _thump_. “We have a relative that wants to testify for John?”

Alex snickered. “Yes, we do. And pick your taco up.”

Herc’s entire face lit up, his teeth shining from across the table. “How could I eat at a time like this?!” He asked too loud.

“Don’t get so happy yet. There are complications.”

“Complications?” Herc asked, smile dimming. “What kind?”

“Well he agreed for us to interview him before the change of counsel. We’ve got to get Burr by him. I’m not sure it’s entirely legal for me to conduct the interview, either.”

“No, you’re doing the interview,” Herc said. “Fuck the law.”

“We defend the law, man.”

“Fuck us, then,” Herc laughed, then got a serious look on his face. “Seriously, fuck us though. How old is the kid?”

“Fourteen, I think. But if we want jury sympathy for our boy, we need him. He volunteered, it's fine. If you’re okay with it I’ll conduct the interview. Have you talked to Burr?”

“I came straight from the courthouse and have been with you since. I haven’t even seen the slimy bastard since this morning.”

“He hasn’t contacted you yet?” Alex asked.

“Nope. I’ll call him tomorrow morning, though. When is the interview with John Jr.?”

“You mean James?”

“Yeah. James.”

“Well it was scheduled for tomorrow. Assuming everything goes to plan. I need to call him and make sure he’s still okay with it because of the change of counsel.”

“He will be,” Herc said. “We also need to meet with John.”

“We’ll do that after. I feel like I need to get the brother on board as soon as possible. And, besides, maybe Burr will come with us.”

Herc grimaced. “Ew.”

“He’s your new partner, buddy. Get used to it.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t think he’s fuckin’ gross.”

"We all do, Herc," Alex laughed, looking outside the dark windows of the restaurant. "We all do."

 

 

 

The next day, Alex woke up early.

Well, it’s not that he woke up early—it’s more of the fact that he just never really got to sleep that night. Too much to do.

Alex had been pacing the floor, writing notes, making lists. Organizing everything he could before sunrise. He could proudly say he finally washed his hair and braided it back out of his face. He checked down at the time on his phone and grinned wickedly. Finally, he thought.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” Alex called, turning on Herc’s lights and shaking him awake. “We have business to take care of.”

“Jesus, Alex, what time is it?” Herc asked, groaning.

“Eight. You’ve had five hours of sleep, you’re good to go.”

“I’m guessing that’s five more hours than you got.”

“Correct. You have two minutes to get up before I bring out the big guns,” Alex called over his shoulder as he exited.

“Big guns?” Herc called after him.

“Water cannon.”

Herc groaned into his pillow.

Within the next two minutes, he was up and padding into the living room with his bare feet, rubbing his eyes miserably.

“Why am I up at eight a.m.?” He asked.

“For pancakes, maybe?” Laf smiled and handed Herc a plate of hot breakfast.

Herc smiled lazily. “You’re the best, you know that?”

"I'm well aware."

“Aye, Laverne and Shirley, attention here please,” Alex called out.

“The fuck do you want?” Herc snapped.

“Our meeting with James is at ten o’clock. We need to be in the office by nine at the latest because you still need to be briefed. I’d also like to get Burr in on it if at all possible.”

“Why would—“ Laf started, but was interrupted when Herc’s phone started ringing.

“Speak of the motherlovin’ devil,” Herc murmured, rolling his eyes.

“It’s Burr?” Alex asked.

“Yup,” Herc sighed. "Honestly what's with you guys and waking up so early?"

"Answer the phone!" Alex and Laf said simultaneously. 

Here looked down and swiped his phone to answer, then put it on speaker and winked at Alex. “Hello?”

“Hercules, it’s good to talk to you,” Burr’s voice rang out.

Alex rolled his eyes. “I wish I could say the same,” Herc said, earning a slap on the arm from Lafayette.

“There’s no need for all this. We’re on the same team now, remember?” Burr asked.

“You say that, but I’m not entirely convinced. Doesn’t matter at this point, I guess. Why are you calling me?” Herc asked.

“To schedule a meeting. Well, two, actually. I need to have a session with you to talk about the case, and then there’s a bigger problem.”

“What’s the bigger problem?”

“John Laurens. The kid won’t—“

“John Laurens is not a fucking _problem_ , you ape,” Alex interjected before getting his foot stomped on by Hercules.

There was a long sigh from the other end of the phone. “Are you letting Alexander eavesdrop on our conversation?” Burr asked.

Herc made a small cut throat gesture with his finger toward his friend. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said casually into the phone.

“Well, actually, this is good. Are you listening, Alexander?” Burr asked.

“You bet your skinny butt I’m listening.”

“Good. Now, as I was saying, John Laurens won’t talk to me.”

Alex paused, mouth slightly agape. “What?”

“I tried to interview him and the boy isn’t talking. He said—“

“Now hold the fuck up,” Alex said. “You’ve already talked to John?”

“I tried.”

“What the hell makes you think you have a right to that? He’s not up for sale.”

“He’s my client now, Alexander. I’m not trying to buy him. Anyway, I don’t see why this is making you so defensive,” Burr said slowly.

“I’m not defensive,” Alex said quickly, backing off. “’m not.”

“Good,” Burr said. “Because he said I need to bring you the next time I come up there or else he’s not gonna talk.”

Laf silently raised a praise-Jesus hand in the air, followed by a victorious fist bump from Herc. “My boy,” Herc grinned.

“I’m sorry?” Burr asked.

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything,” Herc said, clearing his throat. “You can probably go up to the prison later today or tomorrow, depending on how this meeting goes. Which, by the way, is in just a few hours if you’d like to come, Burr.”

Alex rolled his eyes so hard Herc almost laughed.

“Meeting?”

“We’re talking with his brother.”

“Whoa,” Burr said. “That’s… that’s heavy stuff.”

“You signed up for it,” Alex said. “Meet us in our office by nine thirty at the latest, got it?”

“Deal,” Burr said eagerly. “See you then.”

“Yup,” Alex said impatiently, reaching to hang up Herc’s phone.

When Burr was safely off the line, Herc raised his eyebrows. “You sure you’re cool with him coming?”

“Sure goddamn hope so,” Alex sighed, standing and putting on his coat. “But if I commit homicide, I know a lawyer that can probably get me off the hook.”

Herc made a show of looking around the room. “Who? Because I know you’re not talking about me.”

“Put on some pants and come on!” Alex said.

 

 

 

Four months in, and John had still not made any friends in prison.

Which, to be fair, might be how these things usually go. John wouldn’t know.

People still talked about him, still whispered when he passed by. The most contact he’d made with anyone had been only recently. When the guards finally believed he wouldn’t try and kill anyone, they allowed him to eat lunch in the commissary. He arrived early and took a seat beside the trashcans, trying to keep his head down.

There were TV’s on the walls all tuned into various news stations that John wasn’t interested in. When more people started filing in, a few ended up coming to John’s table and sitting around him. John mumbled hello to them and was promptly ignored.

And it was a cycle. The men around him carried on conversations while John just sat and ate his food, thankful to be in the company of people that weren’t press or lawyers. 

None of them seemed to mind it, the quiet mutual understanding that John simply wouldn't talk. John appreciated that.

One day, while three of the men were arguing about which superhero was the best, he glanced up at the TV. There was a clip from a news station of a courtroom, Washington’s courtroom. He squinted to get a better look. It was Alex. Alex was screaming, by the looks of it, and being physically escorted out of the courtroom.

John tilted his head. He knew Alex was kicked off the trial, but… well, to be honest, it shouldn’t be surprising. Of course he had to make a scene about it.

“That short guy just does not know when to quit,” one of the men laughed, looking up at the screen, displaying a sizeable neck tattoo of a scorpion.

John stifled a laugh at his comment. He had no idea.

“You watchin’ that shit?” Another man asked, gesturing to Alex. “That’s what I call entertainment. I wish something like that happened during my trial.”

The scene on the TV cut out to a blonde reporter, with the headline “WHAT COMES NEXT FOR JOHN LAURENS?” spinning by under her. On the corner of the screen was John’s school picture from his senior year.

A nearby guard noticed the TV coverage, looked to John, and changed the channel to another news station.

"This trial is by far the most interested I've ever been in law," neck tattoo said, looking at John. "Other than my trial, with my piece of shit lawyer, of course."

"At least y'all got a trial," another man murmured.

There was a silence, John felt some men gesturing around him while he ducked his head to eat, but tried to ignore it.

"Alright, fuck subtlety," neck tattoo announced, making the man in glasses next to him groan in frustration. 

He turned to John. "Are you John Laurens or not?"

John froze and looked up at the man.

“Ain't nobody gonna give you any shit, man. We just want to know," he said.

"Yeah," John answered fairly quickly. "I am."

Mindlessly, he reached around his collar and started fiddling with the necklace Alex had given him.

"Fuckin' knew it," one of the men said.

"Literally everyone knew it, Pinhead. You're not special."

"Quit callin' me Pinhead," someone with an Irish accent scolded.

"Alright piss-for-brains."

"You know what—“

"Aye! Can you go just a few more minutes without ripping each other's throats out, please?" Neck tattoo said.

"Maybe."

A shrug. "Good enough for me."

John took another bite of his food, trying to once again disappear from their conversation.

"Where'd you get that?"

It took John a few moments to realize they were talking to him again. He glanced up.

"What?"

"He means the necklace. We're not supposed to have necklaces in here," the man with glasses spoke up.

"Oh. Well, I had it in my pocket for a while so maybe they didn't notice it. I don't know," John shrugged.

"Some sort of rosary or something?" Neck tattoo asked.

"No, its--" John fished the necklace out from under his shirt. "It's a little charm type thing."

"What language is that?" The Irishman asked. "Some kind of islander thing?"

"No, it's a Viking rune. Old."

"See? Now you see why I call him Pinhead?" The man next to him laughed.

"Someone give it to you in here?" Neck tattoo asked. "I had a silver cross necklace and they took it soon as they saw it."

"No. I mean, someone gave it to me while I was out for the trial. Birthday gift," John shrugged, still not entirely comfortable conversing with these strangers.

"So not an islander thing?” Pinhead looked visibly disappointed.

"I honestly don't know what you mean by that."

It was strange. They all had to know what he'd done, but here they were cracking jokes and including him like he was normal. John didn't understand that and didn't even try to make sense of it.

"Wait a minute," another man with buzzed hair, dark skin, and empty gauges in his ears spoke up. "Let me see it."

John hesitated, but really didn't want to cause any more trouble. He pulled it from his neck and handed it to the man.

He held it in one big hand and smiled lightly. "Actually, I see where Pinhead got the islander thing. Except, not the islands he's probably thinking of. I recognize it. We learned them on Nevis during clean up--"

"So we're all just cool casually calling me Pinhead, then?" Pinhead groaned in frustration.

"Anyway, we used them to mark shit off. I don't know. Only certain people knew and used them," the man said. "I still remember when I came here and people were talking about it. Said it was devil stuff, part of the reason they stopped letting refugees in, apparently."

"I didn't know you were from Nevis, Jones," Neck tattoo spoke up.

"Yeah," the man— Jones, nodded. "Yeah. Came after the hurricane, you know." He paused. "Where'd you get this anyway?"

"Was a gift," John said, hoping Jones would offer it back pretty soon.

"Was she from the West Indies?" Jones asked.

"He, and I don't know," John shrugged. "I haven't asked him."

"You should, if you see him again," Jones said, twisting it in his hand. “It means… like warriors, or something, I think. Primal energy, violence, I don’t know. I could be wrong.”

“Warriors?” John asked.

“Yeah, I think. I don’t know,” he said again, and handed it back to John with a small smile. “I’m not the brightest guy out there, so it’s possible I’m mixed up here.”

John remembered reading about it online. It was the warriors, pretty close to what Jones had said.

“But, it was also used in clean up, like I said. I don’t remember, that might’ve been a coincidence.”

For the first time, John realized something that floated to the bottom of his stomach and sat like a rock. Alex knew everything about him, but he knew almost nothing about Alex.

 

  

 

Alex sat, foot tapping impatiently.

“He’s late,” he said.

“It’s three minutes past ten. Calm yourself,” Burr sighed.

“Was I talking to you?” Alex snapped.

“Boys,” Herc said. “Don’t make me be the sane one here.”

Alex, Herc, and Burr were all behind Herc’s desk in his office (Alex’s was too cluttered), Herc and Alex with their big office chairs and Burr in a comically small fold out.

“Still mad about the chair, by the way,” Burr grunted.

“Maybe you wouldn’t have such a shitty chair if you hadn’t got me kicked off the trial,” Alex quipped.

“Alexander—“

“Hello?” Someone called from the hallway.

All three of them stopped, heads snapping up in unison.

Alex rose first, running out to meet the boy in the hall. Herc and Burr followed behind.

“James?” Alex asked.

“Uh, yeah. Hi. Hi Mister Hamilton,” James reached out to nervously shake Alex’s hand.

"Call me Alex," Alex smiled.

“And I’m Hercules Mulligan,” Herc said, offering his hand out. "Herc."

“Oh, hi. Wow. Nice hand shake. Firm,” James said.

Herc laughed. “Thank you. And this is Aaron Burr.”

James peered at Burr through the top of his glasses. “You’re the one that got Mister Hamilton kicked off.”

“The very same,” Alex nodded. “But, he’s on our side now. Are you still okay with being interviewed?”

“I guess so.”

“Great,” Burr said, reaching out to shake James’s hand. “I promise it’ll go great. Come join us in Mulligan’s office,” he turned and gestured into the small room on their left.

“Okay,” James nodded and followed them in.

“This chair is for you,” Alex went and got Laf’s office chair from reception and rolled it in front of Herc’s desk. Burr groaned indignantly.

“You had another office chair!?” He almost shrieked.

“Yup,” Herc and Alex said simultaneously.

“And I’m the one in the cheap fold-out?” Burr asked.

“We can switch, if you want.”

Everyone turned to look at James, who was already rising out of his seat to offer it to Burr. Alex’s heart broke a bit.

“No, no it’s fine. I’m just giving them a hard time,” Burr covered, guilt on his face. “Go ahead and sit.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.”

James sat back down in his seat, and put his feet up to where he could sit criss-cross in it.

Alex stared. He was skinny, like John. He had the same curly hair, only much shorter. No freckles, but under the glasses his eyes were the exact same shade as John’s. He was wearing a baggy sweater, the sleeves rolled only high enough to where his hands would be uncovered.

“Nice sweater,” Alex remarked.

James blushed slightly. “Thank you. It’s actually John’s,” he laughed a little. “He’s not around to tell me not to wear his sweaters, so I wear them a lot now.”

“And how old are you?”

“Fourteen.”

“Right,” Burr jotted that down and Alex rolled his eyes.

“So, did you have a direction you wanted to take this interview or should we lead the way?” Herc asked kindly.

“I thought you were going to,” James said, looking at their faces in a small panic.

Almost belatedly, Alex realized he didn't have the same muted spitfire spirit about him that John did. John was calm and collected, but radiated an energy that burned as bright as Alex's. James, on the other hand, seemed clumsy and unsure, both in his words and movements. Anxious, and not sure how to hide it.

“Great,” Alex said. “It’s just, since we really need you as a witness, we’re trying to keep you as comfortable as possible.”

“Damn Alex, just throw it out there, then,” Herc whispered.

“We’ll start light and work our way to the heavier stuff, okay?” Alex asked.

“Okay,” James nodded.

“What grade are you in?”

James reached down to scratch at his arms. “I’m a freshman.”

“Extracurriculars?”

“I do tech for plays sometimes,” James shrugged. “Haven’t been in school lately to do anything, though.”

“Because of the hospital?”

James almost flinched at his words. “Yes.”

“So, let’s talk about the hospital. Is your being admitted there a result of what happened between John and your father?”

James paused and reached up to scratch his neck. “Probably. I mean—yes. Yeah, it is.”

“What have been the repercussions of that?”

James shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve—I don’t—it’s just, when I think about it, I get sick. I started doing some things and when Uncle Winston and Aunt Em found out they sent me to get help.”

“Doing some things?” Burr quoted back to him. "What kind of things?"

James immediately dropped his eyes downward and ran a nervous hand through his hair for what seemed like the hundredth time.

“You don’t have to tell us what you mean if you don't want to,” Alex interrupted, eyeing Burr. “It’s not important to the case.”

“Okay," James let out a relieved puff of air and looked back up at them. "Thanks.”

“Next question: did you ever see your father hit your brother?”

“Yeah,” James said quietly.

“More than once?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think what John did was okay?” Alex asked.

James paused. “No. No, I don’t think it was okay.”

“Do you forgive him for it?”

“I don’t know,” James answered. “I still love him, and I still miss him. I don’t know if I forgive him.”

“But you’re willing to help him?”

“Absolutely.”

“What about your other siblings?”

“Henry is convinced everyone’s making it up. I think I’m the only one who knows he doesn’t actually think that.”

“What do you mean?”

“He just kept denying it and denying it. Then, one night, we started fighting about it. Arguing, not fighting. But it ended with him yelling that he knew what happened and that it wasn’t fair," James paused, bit his lip regretfully. "That’s about all he said. He… He started crying, but I didn’t know what to do. Typically, John helps with those things.”

“And the girls?” Alex asked.

He sighed. “Martha got punched in the face a couple of weeks ago for defending him at school, apparently. Mary’s been pretty quiet about it all.”

“So Martha is for sure on his side?” Herc asked.

“I guess so. She won’t testify, though.”

“Why not?”

“Just trust me,” James said. “She won’t.”

“John talked to us about one time when he saw your father hitting you," Herc spoke up. 

"Can you explain that to us?”

James sighed and scratched at his arms again. “He was mad at me because I slept all day. It was summer, I—I didn’t think he’d care.”

“And John stepped in?”

“Yeah. Which…” James reached to push up his glasses. “Which is part of the reason why I’m so weird about this whole thing. Your whole case revolves around John always being peaceful until that one day but he wasn’t. Not that time.”

“He fought back?” Herc asked.

“Yeah,” James nodded. “He had a golf club. Later he told me he was just scared and didn’t know what to do. I believe that. I don’t think violence comes natural to him, but I think protecting me did." A beat. "Came natural to him, I mean.”

“If you’re going to testify, you’re going to need to understand a few things,” Burr said. “First, we’re not going to put you on the spot. The prosecution will.”

“Oh. I don’t do good under pressure.”

“Be honest and you’ll be fine,” Alex smiled. “We’re using you as a character witness. 

You know your brother better than anyone, probably. What’s some things you can tell us about him?”

“He’s good at drawing,” James said. “And he’s a good singer, like mom was. The rest of us can’t really sing.”

“These are all great facts, but we need something more concrete,” Burr said. “About the way he acted. How he treated you and the rest of your family.”

“Oh,” James scratched at his arms again. “Yeah, sorry. That was stupid, huh? Nevermind. Okay. Right. He… he took care of us. He cooked and cleaned and made sure we got our homework done. He talked to us and helped us and everything. He rarely got frustrated, and even when he did he’d just go sit somewhere and cool down for a little bit until he was ready to come back.”

“Did you ever notice the drinking?” Herc asked bluntly.

James winced. “There were a couple of times where, at night I’d go to his room because I got scared and I’d get into bed with him. Sometimes his breath smelled like our dad’s.”

“And what about a social life? Did he ever go out or bring friends over?” Burr asked.

“He sometimes had his girlfriend Maria over,” James said. “And when he was younger he was friends with some other blonde boy and he came over a little bit. He never had a lot of friends come to the house. He and Maria went on dates sometimes and also prom. They were pretty cute.”

“His girlfriend,” Alex repeated. “What did you think of her?”

“I don’t know. She’s really pretty and she spends a lot of time doing her makeup. She was always nice to us.”

Burr glanced down at his papers. “Back to that night. Did you ever see anything foreshadowing the event?”

James thought for a moment. “Not really. I mean, the golf club thing, maybe. But… look, I didn’t know how bad it was, and I never thought he fought back when it was just him taking it.”

"He says this was the first time," Alex said. "I'd tell you more, but I get the feeling maybe you don't want to know everything."

"I don't."

Burr took over then, going through line by line the gist of what he was planning on asking, and advising him to come up with answers well before he testifies. Alex, again, tuned out, watched James listen intently to the men in front of him. He noticed James' mannerisms, the quiet similarities between him and his older brother. Noticed his nervous ticks and every time he scratched at his forearms or pushed up his glasses. The kid was a walking book of body language, and Alex knew Jefferson would sniff him out immediately.

He ended up staying till around noon and politely declined Herc's offer to let them buy him lunch. They parted with smiles and shook hands, Alex still mostly tuned out for it.

When the door shut behind James, Alex breathed a sigh of relief and turned to look at Burr.

“Well?” He asked.

“What?” Burr responded.

“You gonna leave or…?”

Burr paused for a moment. “Are you kicking me out right now?”

Herc couldn't contain his chuckle that came out.

“You have your info. Let’s move, you’re wasting daylight,” Alex opened the door for Burr to exit.

“What else is there to do today?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe compile that information into readable form and start making him some questions for the stand. Remind me, which one of us is unfit to be a lawyer?”

Burr raised his eyebrows. “Alright, Alexander. You're right."

"Isn't he always?" Herc smiled sweetly before shutting the door in Burr's face.

 

 

 

Somewhere in the blur of the next two days, Alex managed a visit to the prison right before the counsel change was official.

The staff, used to him by now, let him in without much trouble, only the bare necessities of checks and paperwork. 

“You came at kind of a bad time,” one of the uniformed men at the door said to him. “His whole cell block’s in lunch right now.”

Alex paused. As much as he’d thought about John in prison, he never really pictured lunchtime. 

“Oh. Should I wait?”

“So long as you promise not to get your ass beat and make trouble, I’ll let you in there,” the guard shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

Alex considered briefly, then decided, what the hell, he might as well include himself in John’s lunch. “Take me to him,” Alex smiled.

The guard pushed off the wall lazily and sauntered in front of Alex, swiping his security pass and finally gaining entrance to a large cafeteria full of prison orange.

“You’ll find him at the back with Mercer’s crew,” he gestured to a rough looking group of men sitting by the trashcans. “They don’t bite. Well, I think one of them does, actually.”

Alex’s eyes widened, the man shrugged and leaned against the wall. “I’ll be here watching. You’ll be fine.”

Alex nodded uncertainly and started making his way through a crowd of people he very much didn’t feel a part of. He was wearing full lawyer gear, suit and tie and briefcase, hair neatly tied back. A few men gave him looks, but he just kept walking.

He saw John sitting with his head down, occasionally looking up to be a part of the conversation. Alex smiled, hoping these guys were some form of comfort to him in this hellhole.

“John?” Alex approached the table uncertainly. John, along with four others at the table, looked up at Alex, who smiled. “Hey. I have some stuff for you.”

John tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Fuck me, are you the short one who got kicked outta the courtroom?” Someone with a thick Irish accent said. 

Alex nodded sheepishly. “Yup.”

The man raised his milk carton. “Kahoots to you, lad.”

“You have a minute?” Another man, covered in tattoos, asked. “We can get you a seat.”

Alex shrugged. “Sure.”

The tattooed man gestured to the man in glasses next to him to rise and get Alex a chair, which he did with no hesitation. Alex looked at the pair warily.

“Thank you… uh,” Alex trailed off.

“Call me George,” glasses said, then gestured towards the Irishman. “And call him Pinhead.”

“No!”

“You don’t get a say, Pinhead,” another man spoke up. “I’m Jones.”

“Mercer,” the man with tattoos smiled.

“And you can call me Sam,” the man next to Pinhead smiled.

“Gotta say, Pinhead has you beat for a cool prison nickname,” Alex smiled.

“Damn right I do,” Pinhead smiled. “Fuck all y’all, I’m special.”

“I’d say so,” Mercer laughed, causing Pinhead to throw a napkin at him.

“What did you have?” John spoke softly to Alex while the men argued.

“Well, a few things,” Alex said, trying to act like sitting next to John didn’t have his heart beating just a little bit harder. “Burr said he already talked to you.”

John scoffed. “Fuck that guy.”

“Agreed,” Alex smiled proudly. “Anyway, you need to sign some papers for the counsel change.”

“Because he’s replacing you.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m supposed to just be okay with that?” John asked.

Alex glanced up, and briefly locked eyes with Jones, who was staring him down from across the table, he turned back to John. “No. None of us really are. Pretty sure Jefferson is coming up with an elaborate revenge plot for him right now. But Herc felt like he needed help, and Burr, despite being an asshole, is help.”

John nodded. “Okay. I’m filing this away with ‘lawyer things John doesn’t understand’ and moving on. You got the papers?”

Alex opened his briefcase and took out the paperwork, putting it on the table in front of John. 

John glanced up. “What happens if I just don’t sign it?”

“A brief legal battle and, likely, a mistrial.”

“Well hell,” John said, picking up a pen and moving to sign the papers.

“What’s your last name, sir?” Jones spoke up, staring at Alex.

“Hamilton.”

“That your mother’s name too?”

Alex blinked, turning to face the man full on. “What?”

“Was Hamilton your mother’s name as well?” Jones asked, the rest of the men went silent, paying attention.

“No.”

Jones nodded. “You and your brother went to school in Charlestown for a bit?”

Alex stiffened. “Why are you asking me this?”

Finally, Jones lightened the intensity of the conversation with a small smile, he turned to John. “He’s the one who gave you the rune, right? The warriors?”

John nodded cautiously. 

“You gonna keep interrogating him or…?” Mercer asked.

“It’s just— I went to school with your brother. Or, I did. You know,” Jones made a vague gesture that Alex nodded to. 

“You’re from Nevis?” Alex asked.

“Unfortunately,” Jones said, and Alex chuckled. 

“I just remember him— remember all you guys because of that whole thing, you know,” Jones shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just cool you made it after all that. Being all scholarly and shit.”

Alex smiled uncomfortably and looked to John. “You done with that paperwork yet?” He asked.

“No,” John said, purposefully moving slow. “Not yet,” he turned to Jones. “What do you mean by ‘all that’?”

Jones smiled kindly. “Not my business to tell, I’m afraid.”

“Islander stuff,” Pinhead said.

“Fuck off for just, like, two minutes, I beg of you,” Sam said. 

Pinhead responded by shoving mashed potatoes into his mouth as aggressively as possible and chewing with his mouth wide open. John ate lunch with a truly charming group of individuals. 

“You gotta tell me,” John said when the conversation picked up again amongst the other men. “What’s Jones talking about?”

“That’s a conversation for another day.”

“Tell me or I’m not signing these papers.”

“John.”

“Nope.”

“I’m from St. Croix… from Nevis, where that hurricane hit. I have a half brother who left when my dad did, the community didn’t like me and my mother. Now sign the damn papers.”

“Didn’t like you?” John asked.

“I’m not the one on trial here, quit interrogating me,” Alex said.

“Why didn’t they like you?”

“Cultural shit.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“When’s the last time you were in St. Croix?” Alex asked. “I don’t expect you to get it. Sign the papers.”

“What kind of cultural shit?”

Alex sighed in annoyance. “You’re not getting my life story in a prison cafeteria. Sign the papers, John.”

John nodded and scribbled his signature everywhere Alex had marked for him to. He glanced up at Jones, who winked slyly at him. John finished the paperwork and handed them to Alex, who shoved them in his briefcase. He hesitated for a moment, wanting something else, some form of closure that wasn’t a legal document, but just nodded and said they’d see each other again in a few days.

  

 

 

The next two days flew by like nothing Alex had ever experienced.

Between getting things ready to call in a new witness, organizing all his old notes, and briefing Burr on everything he needed to know, Alex barely had time to breathe.

Herc and Burr went up to the courthouse to get John to sign an approval for a counsel change. Alex was busy still getting everything dumbed down to Burr's level for the next few days of the trial.

Somewhere along the way, Herc and Burr met with John and discussed the possibility for a testimony from him. According to Herc, John wasn’t excited about it, but he agreed. Alex just hoped they knew what they were doing.

When Alex arrived at the courtroom the first day back, he had to head into the audience of the room which was—admittedly—humiliating.

There was low chatter around them, a few people recognized him but said nothing. He made sure to get an isle seat, though he wasn't sure why. Didn't need to feel trapped or smushed in between people at a time like this. He heard mutters from the seat behind him and definitely recognized the familiar whisper of his last name in what sounded like negative context, but he decided to ignore that for now.

He checked his phone. Twenty minutes. Herc and John— and Burr, Alex thought grimly, were all in HQ by now. He glanced up at the empty desks for both the state and the defense. It was like looking at a fully set stage with no actors or lights. Just... empty. Peaceful, Alex thought. If it weren't for the weight of the situation, it would be peaceful here in Washington's empty courtroom.

Mulligan and Burr eventually made their way into the courtroom, to which Alex just nodded at them. Herc nodded back, Burr smiled uncomfortably and made his way to Alex’s old seat.

Herc looked back at him and made a motion with his hand for Alex to come meet him.  Alex did, stopping just shy of the bar separating them.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“You remember who we’re calling today?” Herc asked.

“You bet. How'd John take it?"

Herc and Burr exchanged a look.

Alex’s heart sunk. “You're kidding me, right?"

“Afraid not,” Here said regretfully. “It was just never the right time.”

“He said he didn’t really want to know who we call, right?” Burr asked.

“Call me crazy, but I feel like bringing his brother into this is different,” Alex said.

“Think he’ll be upset?” Burr asked.

“He'll probably understand," Alex said. "Won't be easy, but I don't think he'll be too mad."

“I don't know, the kid does have a temper,” Burr murmured, as if by some stretch of the imagination he knew what he was talking about. Alex glared.

“All rise.”

Alex scurried back to his seat as everyone in the court stood at the bailiff’s words. 

Washington entered silently, his presence heavy in the room as usual.

He went over a few reminders of the circumstances, why the recess was called earlier and how now everything should be back to normal.

“Bring in the defendant,” Washington said tiredly, finishing his little speech.

More reminders, the same thing these twelve people heard everyday they came in. A matter of routine, by now.

“Call your next witness,” Washington finally said.

Herc looked uncomfortably across John to Burr, who stood proudly and announced, “Defense calls James Laurens to the stand.”

John’s chair scraped against the floor as he rose out of his seat abruptly, two officers rushing towards him to sit him back down.

“Objection!” John called weakly, Alex felt himself bite his lip to keep from doing anything.

“You cannot object, Mister Laurens. Sit down or I’ll hold you in contempt.”

“But—“

“It is the job of your counsel to inform you of daily witnesses. Don’t blame the court for their incompetence,” Washington glared. 

John begrudgingly sat back in his chair, glaring at Herc the whole time.

“Now, bring in the witness,” Washington sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

A very frightened looking James Laurens emerged from the holding room, looking small and fragile. His eyes went straight to John as he approached the stand.

The bailiff made him swear on the bible, the whole nine yards, then let him take his seat on the stand. Alex could already feel Jefferson honing in on him, scanning for any weakness he could find. 

“Identify yourself for the court, please,” Burr stood and walked towards him.

“I—“ James swallowed thickly, audibly in the courtroom mic. “I’m James Laurens.”

“Relation to defendant?”

“Brother.”

“Age difference?”

“He’s eighteen, I’m fourteen.”

“You’re his younger brother then, correct?”

“Objection. Re-stating aforementioned facts,” Jefferson rolled his eyes.

“Sustained,” Washington said, voice thick with annoyance.

“Withdrawn. And you’ve lived with your brother since you were born, correct?”

“Y-yes.”

Burr paused, a genuine smile on his lips. “You nervous?” He asked, straying so far from the script they went over on the phone that Alex nearly blurted out an objection.

“Yes,” James said, voice coming out hoarse.

“Here,” Burr said, retreating back to their desk and getting an unopened bottle of water from his side. He approached James and handed him the water.

James nervously fiddled with the lid until he could unscrew it, then took a fraction of a sip of the water. He offered it back to Burr, who put out a hand.

“On the house,” he smiled.

“Thank you,” James said nervously, reaching out and taking an actual drink of the water. Burr smiled knowingly.

“Why did you do that?” Burr asked.

James froze like a deer in headlights. “Do what?”

“Why did you just taste it when you thought I wanted it back, but when I told you you could have it, you took a real drink. Why did you do that?”

“It’s your water,” James shrugged.

“That’s considerate, but moreover, that’s cautious,” Burr said, pacing back and forth. “Who taught you to be so considerate?”

“Mom told me to say please and thank you—“

“Everyday life. Who helped you exercise those principles?”

“John, I guess.”

“Did he also teach you to be cautious like that?”

James pondered for a moment. “I don't know. Maybe. Not that I know of."

“So you learned to be cautious from another member of your family.”

“I guess,” James answered.

“Perhaps your father?” Burr asked.

Alex’s eyes widened, suddenly understanding exactly what Burr was getting at. The courtroom was so silent you could hear a pin drop, and Burr was absolutely basking in it.

“Mister Laurens, have you ever been on the receiving end of your father’s violence?”

It was the segue to end all segues. Burr was damn good at this.

James paused for only a second. “Yes.”

“Can you describe the first time it occurred?” Burr asked.

“Yes. Um, it was summer between seventh and eighth grade, and it was the fourth of July,” James said, twiddling his fingers together restlessly. “And John said we could go to his friend’s lake house and watch fireworks that night, so I decided to sleep during the day. And Dad came home and asked me what I did all day, and I told the truth. He got really mad about it. He believes in hard work and whatever, and he’s always worried people will call his kids lazy. So, he yelled at me and I just sort of shut down, and that made him even angrier, so he hit me.”

“How many times?”

“Three.”

“You remember each one?”

“Y-yeah,” James nodded.

Burr nodded and, understandably, skipped the part about John ending that fight.

“So, you can confirm from firsthand experience that Henry Laurens was a violent man?”

“Yes.”

“Did your brother ever threaten or hurt you?”

“No.”

“So, when you were told what happened between your brother and your father, how did you react?”

“I didn’t really… I didn’t really understand it. At first, I mean. I kept thinking it was a joke but cops don’t joke about that stuff. It didn’t really hit me that Dad was dead until Aunt Em had to go identify him, and I didn’t believe John did it till I heard the 911 tape.”

“Explain.”

“I don’t know… it just doesn’t seem real. Even now. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“When’s the last time you saw your brother?” Burr asked.

“July 11.”

“What was he doing?”

“He dropped me and Henry Jr. off at Aunt Em’s place.”

“Why?”

“They were having a cookout.”

“Why didn’t he stay over?”

James ran a nervous hand through his hair. “He didn’t get invited.”

“Why not?”

“As far as I know, Uncle Winston just really doesn’t like him.”

Well that was certainly not the answer I was hoping for, Alex thought grimly, eyeing the jury.

Burr went to recover quick. “And why is that? They’re aware of all he’s done for his siblings, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“So why doesn’t your uncle like him?”

Alex briefly realized that whatever answer James was about to give couldn’t be the truth, because he was ignorant of the truth. Alex eyed Burr cautiously.

“He thinks he’s too girly or something, I don’t know.”

Alex’s eyes widened.

Burr paused, a smile on his lips. “He thinks John Laurens is too ‘girly’?” He gestured to the rough looking teenager beside Herc.

“Yeah.”

“Now where would he ever get that idea?” Burr asked.

James swallowed audibly into the mic. “I don’t know. Dad used to think the same thing when he was younger.”

Burr paused for a moment, no doubt in hopes of sticking that in the minds of the jury.

“I’m almost done here, but I have one last question to ask. You still with me, James?”

“Yes.”

“Can you ever forgive your brother for what he did?” Burr asked quietly, just loud enough to hear.

James paused, probably dealing with the inner conflict of the possibility of lying on the witness stand. Burr shouldn’t have asked the question, sure, but if he didn’t Jefferson would. Better to cripple Jefferson’s plan of action straight away while James is still comfortable.

“Maybe,” he finally said. “I… I want to talk to him.”

“But there’s a possibility?”

“Yeah.”

“The defense rests,” Burr said, smiling softly at James before retreating to his seat.

“Would the state like to cross-examine at this time?” Washington asked.

“I would, your honor,” Jefferson rose and buttoned his suit jacket, walking over to James.

John visibly grew tense beside his lawyers, and Alex yearned to be back in his seat next to him.

Jefferson calmly approached the witness stand, took in the sight of a very nervous James, and mimicked the same smile Burr had given him earlier.

"I'm glad you're here, Mister Laurens, because there's still one very important piece of evidence we've not gone over with our jury."

James remained silent.

"You've heard the 911 call, correct?"

"Yes."

"Well, the jury hasn't," Jefferson smiled. Alex's stomach stirred in his seat. Of course the bastard waited until James was on the stand to use it. Of course he did.

Washington turned to the defense. “Any objection to exhibit 19?” He asked.

Burr sighed. “No, your honor.”

“Mister Madison," Jefferson turned around and nodded at Madison, who brought an old stereo onto their table. "Whenever you're ready."

Madison, without hesitation, hit play on the device. The serene voice of a 911 operator rang through the room.

 

_"911, where is your emergency?"_

_"Uhh.. my house," a very tired, very young sounding John Laurens answered._

_"What's the address?"_

_"8073 Aprich St."_

_"Okay," the faint noise of typing. "And what is your emergency?"_

 

Alex had listened to this call over a dozen times. He knew it word for word. He glanced up at James, who was digging his fingernails into his palms, obviously distressed.

 

_"I... I just shot my father."_

_The woman's voice grew into a mixture of disbelief and panic. "I'm sorry, what was that?"_

_"I just shot my father."_

 

John was sitting motionless, not daring to look up from a single spot on the desk.

 

_"Do you still have the gun you used?"_

_"I shot him."_

_"But do you still have the gun?"_

_"I shot him." John's voice was broken, bits of glass cutting into their conversation every time he spoke._

_"Where are you right now?"_

_"My kitchen."_

_"Leave the gun there, and walk away."_

_"Back to the living room?"_

_"Sure, back to the living room."_

_"There's a lot of blood."_

_"It's okay, just walk away from it. Go back to the living room."_

 

James dropped his head in his hands, shoulders starting to shake.

 

_"What is your name, sweetie?"_

_"John Laurens."_

_"Is your father Henry Laurens?"_

_"Yes ma'am."_

 

Alex remembered listening to the tape all those times, each time never really understanding the extra mile of politeness "yes ma'am" added to the grim phone call. It was just John, he guessed. John stripped of every defense he had, sitting covered in both his own and his father's blood, giving the woman on the phone all the respect he could manage.

 

_"Why did you do it? Why did you kill him?"_

_"I just couldn't take it anymore."_

 

James made a small noise from where he was sitting, and Alex's heart broke. In front of him, John was motionless, emotionless. Staring ahead.

 

_"I'm hurt."_

_"What's hurt on you, sweetie?"_

_"My head. It's bleeding and getting into my eyes. I think he broke my ribs."_

_"Did you and your dad get into a fight before this happened?"_

_"Yeah."_

 

The last word was low, barely audible. If the entire room wasn't so captivated it would've been easily missable.

 

_"How old are you, John?"_

_"Seventeen."_

_"Where is the rest of your family right now?"_

_"Gone. The girls are at a sleepover and James and Henry are spending the night at our uncle's house."_

_"Why didn't you go?"_

_"I wasn't invited."_

Jefferson was still standing, moving his eyes from James, to the jury, to John. Alex never wanted to hurt anyone as bad as he wanted to hurt Jefferson for this.

 

_"John, are you feeling like you might hurt yourself as well?"_

_"No," his voice sounded almost confused._

_"Were you planning this before it happened?"_

_"No."_

 

John confessed, yes, but in the confession he also admitted it wasn't pre-meditated. They couldn't take the confession without the admission, and Alex counted that as a win. Passion kills usually didn't get as big of sentences as pre-meditated.

These thoughts, of course, he had before John was a human in his eyes. Now, with a fourteen year old boy actively crying on their witness stand, it all seemed so unimportant.

 

_"If there's anything you need to talk about until they get there, I'm right here for you."_

_"I'm sorry I did this," John's voice stopped cracking and finally shattered._

_"It's okay, sweetie, help is on the way."_

_"I didn't want this to happen."_

_"It's okay, John. Just stay with me. Are there cars in front of your house?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"Do you have any guard dogs or anything?"_

_"No."_

_"Can you go turn on the porch light for the police when they get there?"_

_"Yes ma'am."_

_A silence, the sound of keys clacking._

_"They're here."_

_”Alright, then I'm going to let you go, sweetie."_

 

No response. She waited a few seconds, then hung up with a dull thud. Jefferson stopped the track, and looked up at the jury.

"Only one question for you, Mister Laurens," Jefferson smiled.

James used the sleeves of what Alex assumed was another one of John's sweaters and wiped his face with it before he looked up.

“Were you home on the night of July 11?”

“No,” James answered, voice thick.

“Then the state rests,” Jefferson said, simply turning and retreating back to his seat.

There was a tense, unbelieving silence followed by a loud scoff from Alex in the audience.

“Well then,” Washington cleared his throat. “We have no one else on the witness list, so we’ll break for lunch. When we come back, if the defendant wishes to make a statement he will do so at that time, then we’ll start closing statements. Adjourned.”

By the time Washington hit his gavel, John popped up out of his seat and towards his guards, eager to be escorted out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who finally pulled their head out of their butt and wrote something??? Your friendly neighborhood dirtbag, that'd be me.
> 
> For real though, sorry, but I did it and I'm proud of it. More proud than any of the first garbage drafts of this chapter. I love you all, and I'm posting the next one within the next few minutes because, hell, you've waited a long time for this, so lemme go ahead and wrap it up for y'all.
> 
> Mayaschuyler, prompt homie, you're a real one 
> 
> Love you all to death, and thank you for your support.


	6. The Major Lift

John felt sick from the moment he saw him.

He hadn't planned to make a scene, hadn't planned to stand up and object like that, but there was absolutely nothing that could've prepared him for this. James was so skinny, so pale, so fragile looking. Unruly hair combed back, button up shirt, and a pullover on top that John recognized as his own. He was ready to cry, to scream, to fall on the fucking floor and lay there forever if that somehow would make it to where James was never here, to make it into a world James wasn't in this at all.

The worst part was the tears. Making the 911 call, John honestly never thought he would hear it again, but he really didn't think anybody else would, especially not his brother. James was always a fragile little thing, all skin and bones and a heartbeat always ready to burst out of his chest. When tears started rolling out of James' eyes John could see a reflection in them. For James it didn't matter what happened that night, because now he didn't have parents or an older brother. Now he had to deal with the harsh reality of his older brother —his hero— being an actual murderer.

Maybe this was the hardest part of the trial, John wasn't really sure how it could get any worse. Maybe they'd bring the girls or Henry Jr. into it too just to see how much John could take before he actually fucking fell apart on the courtroom floor.

Numbly, he let the guards escort him back to HQ. They were being uncharacteristically gentle. They knew. On some level, they knew what this meant for him. If he had the energy, John would've thanked them for being so kind.

When they arrived back into HQ, the whole crew— Herc, Alex, Laf, and now Burr— were seated around the table, two boxes of pizza in front of them.

"You okay champ?" Herc asked as the guards showed themselves out. 

"Yeah," John smiled at them. They were honestly doing everything they could. He wanted to be mad and rip the place apart, but they didn't deserve that. They were doing their job, trying to help John and, ultimately, his family. They were helping him. 

Laf read right through him.

"You don't have to pretend for us, amour," Laf said. "We can take it."

"No, it's fine," John pulled the face he always used on his siblings. Pleasant, approachable, not too happy but not exactly indifferent. It worked about 90% of the time.

"You can talk about it," Alex said, and John realized this was definitely the other 10%.

He sighed, dropped his head. No, no he couldn't talk about it. If he talked about it he'd fall apart right here, his skin would come off and his skeleton would collapse and that would be it. It was too much, too heavy.

"I don't want to," he finally said. He was being honest, at least.

Burr nodded. "We understand."

“John,” Alex said softly. 

John just looked down and nodded. He wasn't sure what he was nodding at. Eye contact with Alex was out of the question right now.

There was a silence, and, eventually, people started eating again, and John was thankful for it. He saw Alex pick him out a paper plate, put a slice of pizza on it, and move it in front of him.

"You need to eat," he said sincerely, low enough to not be heard over the conversation Burr and Lafayette were having.

"Yeah," John nodded again, but otherwise didn't move.

He could feel Alex's whole demeanor sink, his energy next to him somehow got dimmer. Almost instinctively, John reached for his hand under the table. Alex wasn't expecting it, and there was a short and sincere hitch of his breath, followed by his whole body almost lighting up again. John felt Alex's thumb rubbing the back of his hand.

He wasn't going to eat, hell, he couldn't eat, but Alex was beside him, and that made things a little better.

“We still need to talk about your testimony for later,” Herc said

“We’ve been over it,” John said.

“Not really,” Burr added. “Hercules has just the bare bones of it.”

"What else do you need?" John asked.

Herc and Alex exchanged an uncomfortable glance. 

"What else do you need?" John repeated.

"Clarification," Herc said, lawyer voice on. "For the jury. Probable cause for the fight."

"Probable cause?" John asked, and turned to Burr who also seemed to be confused. "I thought we've been establishing that this whole time." 

"He means he's going to bring up your sexuality," Alex said, straightforward as always. "And, if you deny in front of the jury, well, we lose a good chunk of our credibility."

"Sexuality?" Burr murmured to Herc, who just brushed him off.

"I know you don't want to, I know it's hard—" Herc started.

"Let me do this," Alex cut in. "It sucks, and I know it sucks, believe me I know it. I've seen this before, I mean, obviously not on this scale, but I've seen something similar. It hurts, it's gonna suck, but—"

"Yeah, fine," John said tiredly.

"Wait," Laf said. "Just like that, you're fine with it? Are you sure?"

John sighed. "Not to offend anyone, I know you're all working really hard, but once you bring James into this, I mean, I don't see how things could get a lot worse for me."

A silence. Alex squeezed his hand a bit.

"Alright then," Herc nodded. "Let me brief you." 

 

 

 

He moved quietly, deliberately,  nerves pounding in the back of his skull. The bailiff held out the Bible for him to swear on and he took his seat, then turned to face Herc.

Now, more than ever, he felt the eyes on him. Everyone in the courtroom, all the eyes staring through the camera lens at the back, Alex, Burr, Jefferson, Washington, all of them. All staring at John.

“Mister Laurens,” Herc said formally. “Do you understand why you’re here today?”

“Yes,” John said, his voice echoing through the microphone startling even him. It dawned on him that the jury, aside from the 911 call, had never actually heard him speak.

“Explain to the court how we all got here, if you will.”

“On July 11, my father and I got into a fight. It turned violent, and I was forced to fight back.” Word for word, this part was important he got right.

“Now, from a jury’s point on view, there are a few things that stick out. The first being the will. Were you aware your name was added back into your father’s will three weeks before the conflict took place?”

“No.”

“How could you not know?” Herc asked.

“He didn’t include me in things like that. He—“ John breathed in deep. “Aunt Em says that they didn’t have a lot of money growing up. He… he always said he never wanted his kids to have to worry about the same things he did, so he never talked to any of us about it. I honestly didn’t even know he’d written a will at all, much less ever taken me out or put me back into it.”

“Your father taking you out of his will and the violence you endured at his hand seem to stem from the same thing, would you agree?”

“Yes.”

“Your father took you out of his will in the spring of 2014. How old were you then?”

“Fifteen, maybe? I was a sophomore, I think.”

“Fifteen. What changed between you and your father when you were fifteen?” Herc asked.

John tried a small, bitter smile, and it just hurt his face. “He…” he reached and pushed some hair behind his ear, heart suddenly beating louder and louder. “He found out some things.”

John could feel his voice becoming uneven. He worked to keep his breathing under control, trying to stifle the panic that was inevitably starting to rise.

“What did he find out?” Herc asked softly.

John’s eyes flickered to the jury, then to the audience where he tried to scan for Alex. He was sitting on the end, right next to Lafayette. Alex’s huge brown eyes wider than normal, leaning up as far as he could in his seat. He tried to give John a small, encouraging nod. John wanted to cry just looking at him. 

“I… He caught me. He came home early one day,” John swallowed, every word coming out harsh and brittle. “And, and I was—“ John bit the inside of his lip, trying to stay together.

“And you were what?” Herc asked.

“And I was with another boy,” he said, clenching a muscle in his jaw, not really looking at anything anymore. “I was kissing another boy.”

Here, in the courtroom, it didn’t have the bombshell effect John thought it would have. The room was silent, everyone paying close attention. He wanted to look at the jury but couldn’t make his eyes move their direction. His eyes caught Jefferson, whose mouth was parted ever so slightly in shock. 

“What do you mean?” Herc asked.

John closed his eyes softly. He knew Herc would press him about it, give the jury as much of a mental picture as he could. That didn’t make it any easier.

“So, I had… he was a friend, kind of. We had to work on a science project together once and we got to be pretty good friends. He came over one day and we watched a movie, one of those old re-runs or something, I don’t remember. And, and he just… we end up kissing some.”

“Was this the first time this happened?”

“No,” John’s eyes flickered down. “No, we’d kissed before.”

“Was this time any different?” 

“Not… not really. It’s just that this time we were bold enough to do it in my living room.”

“Was he your age?”

“I think he was a couple of months older.”

“And how long had you two known each other by this time?”

“About the first month of school is when we really met, so it had been quite a few months.”

“Would you say you were actually together as a couple?”

“Not officially, no.”

“Just some kids messing around then, huh?”

“Guess so.”

“Okay, so you’re watching a movie on TV, and you start kissing. Right?”

“Right.”

“Then what?”

“Then my dad walks in,” John finally glanced over to the jury. “And he gets really mad.”

“What does he do?”

John breathed in deep, like Doctor Monroe had showed him a long time ago. Breath in for six seconds, hold for five, out for seven.

“He stands there, and I don’t know how long he stands there. Ben— the other boy— he sees him first. And he kind of pushes me off of him—“

“You were on top of him?” Herc asked.

Six, five, seven. “I was kind of in his lap.”

“Straddling him?” Herc asked.

“Yeah.”

“And what happened next?”

“He’s real calm. And he tells Ben to go home, and Ben sort of flies out of there because he’s scared too.”

“You were scared?”

“Terrified,” John’s voice almost broke.

“Why?”

“I…” John started. “Growing up, especially when Mom was alive, I was kind of… kind of feminine. And it wasn’t a big deal, at least not that I knew of, until she died, then my dad just… he stopped it. He’s got a thing about masculinity. He has a real strict idea of it, and I never really fit into that. I knew this wouldn’t either.”

For the first time since what felt like the beginning, Jefferson wasn't looking at him. He was looking down at his desk, not even taking notes, just staring.

“Let’s sidetrack here, we’ll get back to the story. What do you mean he ‘stopped it’?” Herc asked. "What other things didn’t fit into his idea of masculinity?”

“There was one really bad night where it was my freckles. A lot of the time he wouldn’t let me hang up my art on the fridge because everything was too girly, he said. And my mom had let me get a bunch of different clothes when I was younger, like, I don’t know. Just stuff I thought I liked. And he burned them one day.”

“Because it didn’t fit in with his idea of masculinity.”

“Yes.”

“I know you could go on, but let's get back to our main point. Back to the story about when you were fifteen with that boy,” Herc said. “Your father walks in, you know from your history together that it’s not going to go well, so what happens next?”

“Ben leaves. And my dad, he’s still pretty calm until the door closes. Then he kind of walks to me real fast and twists my arm behind me, and now he’s really mad and you can tell. And he… he talks a little bit, and I don’t remember exactly what he said. He asked what he walked in on, and I don’t think I gave a real answer, and he ends up hitting me a couple of times and puts his hand on my throat.”

“Choking you?”

“Not… not really. Putting a lot of pressure there,” John loosened his tie needlessly. “But not really cutting off my airway. He ends up dropping it and just tells me to follow him upstairs.”

“What happened upstairs?” Herc asked.

“He goes into the bathroom, and I follow him,” John tells the story methodically, running through each sentence as detached as possible, just like how he had admitted it to Laf all those months ago. “And he takes off his tie and unbuttons his collar, and he starts filling the bathtub. And the whole time he’s telling me he doesn’t want to do this, and that he’s sorry, and I’m sick and he wants to help or something.”

“Then what?”

“He… he grabbed me by the back of my neck and held my head under,” Six, five seven. “He held me under until I passed out, and when I woke up I was in the hospital and he was next to me.”

While John was telling that story, Burr was quietly moving, shuffling and organizing a stack of papers on their desk. When John was done, he told the court he wanted to admit new pieces of evidence, showed Washington, then took them to Jefferson. 

Jefferson flipped through them thoughtfully while the court watched. John noticed the seat next to him was empty, Madison was out sick, so Jefferson was on his own.

“Any objection?” Washington asked.

“Objection to exhibits 22 through 25,” Jefferson said, still flipping thoughtfully. “And 27.”

“Counsel approach.”

Both Burr and Jefferson approached Washington’s bench. Jefferson cut eyes at John briefly, then turned back to Washington. There was a whispered argument, then they both returned to their desks.

“Exhibits 20-22 and 28 approved,” Washington said. Burr dropped his head a bit.

“First, a look at exhibit 20,” Herc said, not missing a beat and moving to show the court. “So you know this story is the truth, here are the hospital records, filed under a false name, for John Laurens the day his father drowned him.”

They projected it for the jury. Hospital records, neatly typed, filed the day of the incident. Alias Jack Leerman, address 8073 Aprich Street, New York, New York. Fifteen year old male, roughly 130 pounds, dark hair, hazel eyes, 5 foot 8 inches tall. 

“As you can see from exhibits 20 and 21, the subject is John Laurens, filed under an alias to prevent any media leaks. Exhibit 22 describes, roughly, the initial injuries. He was unconscious, completely non-responsive for about an hour, evidence of drowning present. Exhibit 28 has pictures of physical injuries, one of which very clearly includes John Lauren’s face.”

Alex didn’t even look up at the pictures, he’d seen them all before. He studied the jury, trying to find out if any of this changed anything for them.

“And, when Doctor James Monroe was testifying, he mentioned briefly a case of aquaphobia, do you believe it stems from this incident?”

“Well… yeah. I guess so.”

“What exactly does that entail?”

“I mean, I’m not scared to drink water or take a shower or wash my hands or anything, obviously. It’s not bad. It’s just tubs and pools and oceans and stuff, that really makes me uneasy. I don’t like going underwater at all, I don’t even like seeing pictures of underwater. I don’t know.”

They were running out of things to say, and all too soon Herc would have to hand off John to Jefferson and let him have at it. 

“I know that during cross examination Mister Jefferson will attempt to get into the grim details of the night— and I’d love for him to. But, for now, let’s focus on bigger picture. July 11. What, for you, was the snapping point?”

John breathed deep and shook his head. “I had about six snapping points within a two hour period. You’re referring to—“

“The big one.”

“Right. First, I know everybody thinks I had a key to the gun case— I didn’t," he looked at the jury. "I didn’t even know where he hid the thing. I never, ever wanted in there.”

“So how did you get the gun?” Herc asked.

“I wasn’t the one who got it,” John said quietly.

Herc, the methodical, way too trusting man that he was, decided to let Jefferson take over from there. If it worked, it would be legendary. The odds of it working? Terrible. Awful. This was not going to be pretty. “Nothing further,” he smiled, then turned to walk back to his desk, John’s usual seat next to him now empty. “Cross,” Herc said, because of course Jefferson wanted a piece of this. 

He hesitated, rising out of his seat just a little slower than usual. “Mister Laurens,” he said, approaching John. Any vulnerability John thought he saw in his face earlier was gone, replaced by stone cold indifference. "Based off forensics alone, I’m sure you can see which direction this trial is headed, and yet you still agreed to take the stand. Forgive me, but I’d just love to know why.”

John shrugged. “I don’t have anything to hide.”

“I bet you don’t,” Jefferson said slowly. “Is that why you’ve been so great at keeping secrets your whole life— because you don’t have anything to hide?”

“I—“

“You hid the abuse from your siblings, you hid your sexuality from your father, even hid the fact that you didn’t know anything about the will. Still—“

“Objection!” Burr called at exactly the same time it dawned on Alex. “Argument improper. Argumentative question. _Asked and answered._ We’ve covered he fact that John Laurens knew nothing about the will, let’s move on.”

Washington considered for a moment, “Sustained,” he finally said. “Strike that statement from the record, please.”

Jefferson stopped, and tactfully rephrased. “Alright, well, even though we’ve talked about the will, it’s not improper to ask more about it. I know Mister Mulligan was so helpfully setting up a talk between the two of us about the gun, but we don’t have to follow that path right now. Now, Mister Laurens, have you realized that, this far in the trial, no one’s mentioned that darn will? You do know what I’m trying to infer here, right Mister Laurens?”

"You want to convince people I knew about the will."

Jefferson smiled. "I'm not sure it's going to require much convincing. If you were facing a level of abuse as unbearable as the defense claims it was, it's awfully curious you waited to retaliate until you were all set up for your father's fortune. You can't say you don't see a correlation here, Mister Laurens. You really expect the jury to be so dim as to believe it was a coincidence?"

"No matter what they believe, it actually was," John said. "I'm sorry, I know it's suspicious."

Jefferson nodded. "Too suspicious. I trust you understand why the jury cannot believe in coincidence here or ever. But, let's move on, do tell, Mister Laurens, what exactly happened that night?” Jefferson continued. “I notice the defense, very uncharacteristically, might I add, didn’t ask for a run-down of the night you murdered your father. So, I’d just like to provide the jury with some answers.”

“Of course,” John responded.

“Start with when you woke up. What time?”

John paused, thinking. “Maybe ten?”

“What happened then?”

“Well, Henry woke me up because he wanted to go get donuts before the shop closed. So I got up and took the kids down to the donut place.”

“Was your father home?”

“He was at work by this time.”

“What happens next?”

“They decide to come back home and eat them while they watched a movie, and I said that was fine and I brought them back home.”

“Did you make any contact to any outside friends or family?” Jefferson asked.

“Martha told me her friend texted and asked if her and Mary could stay over there for the night, and I said that’s fine. They’re from the Girl Scouts, I’ve met the parents. They like to go over there from time to time.”

“What else happened?”

John paused, looked up at the ceiling while he thought. “James downloaded some game on my computer that turned out to be a virus,” he smiled fondly. “He was trying to get that off there. Henry just played for a while. He was a remote truck that he thinks is hilarious to drive into the girl’s feet. They were doing their nails I think.

“Their friend’s parents came to get them around lunch, and they got my phone number in case they needed to come home early or anything. I reminded the boys that they were invited to go to Aunt Em’s place for the night if they wanted to. There was a cookout of some kind.”

“About what time did you take them over there?”

“I’m really not sure. Pretty late in the evening. James was kind of nervous about it, but he gets nervous a lot. We talked about it on the way. I told him he could stay home but Henry kind of talked him into staying over there. I dropped them off and walked them to the door, made sure they had what they needed. I told Aunt Em to call if anything happened, and that was that.”

“Then you went home?”

“Yeah. When I got home I started drawing. My computer still didn’t work because James never got the virus off, so I just sat and drew. I tried to text a friend of mine, but she didn’t respond until… until after everything happened. By then I didn’t text her back either.”

“You’re still home alone by this time?”

“Yes. I…” John sighed. “Dad came home around six or seven, I think. He called me downstairs and asked me where the kids were. We did some small talk for a minute, and eventually he went to the kitchen and I went back to my room. A couple hours later, he calls me back down again. Slurring, this time. He… he’d always call me Jackie when he was drunk. And he yells ‘Jackie’ so I go down, and he’’s watching TV. He says I’ll be interested in what he’s watching, and it’s like a 60 Minutes documentary on the Pray Away the Gay camps.”

“Why would he ask you to watch that?”

John shrugged. “I thought it was a warning, but he really thought I wasn’t gay anymore. Like what he’d done sophomore year had cured me or something. So, I sit, and we watch it.”

“Did the two of you talk?”

“Not really, not until it was over. He looked at me, and I think he was sincere, and he told me he would’ve never sent me away like that. He said he wanted… he wanted me to see that he’s not being unfair, that there are people a lot crazier about it than he is. And he said he was proud of me for ‘dating’” John held up air quotes, “a friend of mine named Maria.”

“So, in this moment, he seemed fairly affectionate, did he not?” Jefferson asked.

John sighed. “He never seemed affectionate. I think he was sincere, and really that’s all I wanted.”

“Carry on. What else happened that night?”

“Well, he gets all political with me. He did that a lot. He talked about some gay rights bill that came up and kind of said gay rights wouldn’t be an issue if parents cut it off when it started, like he did with me. He asked if I agreed, and I… I couldn’t. I couldn’t keep lying, couldn’t keep acting. It’s exhausting,” John said earnestly, sadly. “It’s exhausting to pretend all the time. I figured, I was leaving for college in about a month, so why not tell him? So I came clean. And he stands, and he’s confused and drunk and he’s starting to get mad. I finally just come out and say it. I told him I’m gay, I still like boys and what happened sophomore year didn’t do anything.”

“And how did he react?”

John dropped his head, rubbed the back of his neck. “He…” he clenched his jaw for a moment. “He accused me… he talked about how James and Henry Jr. were always real close to me and how the girls usually aren’t. He said,” tears came to John eyes at the thought. It didn’t spark the same fury in him that it did when it initially happened, but it still hurt just as bad. “He basically accused me of raping my brothers, and told me if he found any proof he’d shoot me in the head.”

A pause while even Jefferson tried to process that information.

“What happened then?” Jefferson asked.

“He kept pushing, kept accusing me, getting more and more aggressive. He got in my face, and I just… I hit him. I hit him like he’d hit me dozens of times in the past. And he grabs me by my throat.”

 

_“I’ll fucking kill you,” he growled, tightening his grip on John’s throat._

_John couldn’t speak anymore, his eyes were bulging and watering, his father just held him there for a moment before using his grip to shove his head into the corner of the coffee table._

_John, by some adrenaline fueled miracle, had the presence of mind to duck just a little so the worst of the blow landed just above his eyebrow instead of his left eye. HIs father, not even taking a second to breathe, practically ran to him and delivered a few kicks straight into his ribs. The second time, he felt something give way  and he screamed. Henry hoisted him back up and punched him again, causing John to stumble back and fall into the wall behind him._

_Quickly, weakly, he caught himself on the palms of his hands. He swiped at his eye because blood was starting to drip down into it and it burned. He was coughing, drool and spit coming out as he heaved, still not recovered from being choked earlier. This had never happened before. It was never this bad. Henry was still standing there, breathing heavily, staring at John’s pitiful form on the floor._

_He looked up at the menacing shadow of his father and made a choice. He struggled, shifted his weight and used his arms until he was back on his feet and looking his father in the eye._

_Their eyes met, the same shade of hazel staring back at each other. Henry was intact, standing tall, John was wounded, blood dripping down from his injuries. He always knew, he really always knew, that this was their destiny. The violence, the hate, even the smell of alcohol and iron in the air, it was always where their story would lead. John took after his father too much, just as Henry had taken after his father before him. They had the same empty rage inside of them, both missing the same woman with a kind of intensity few understood. They spoke the same language, a swift, cunning one of violence and terror. They ran through life in the same monotonous way, like men without reason._

_They were wild animals nobody had bothered to domesticate. Two sides of the same coin. The warriors._

_Suddenly there were footsteps behind him, and Henry had picked him up again, this time just to shove him back into the floor. He sat on top of him, straddled him, put most or all of his weight exactly on John’s ribs, and just started punching._

_By the time John’s eyes were blurred with blood and tears and his father was just a blob above him, Henry spoke again._

_“I wanted you to do it, Johnny. I don’t want to do this,” he said desperately._

_John couldn’t even speak, his jaw had to be some kind of fucked up. He noticed his father reaching for something, a large glass bottle of scotch on the table next to them. He saw him raise it over his head, and John absently realized he needed to move._

_He wriggled out quick, reaching his fingers up to his father’s face, trying to jab at his eyes. His father yelped in pain and leaned back, grabbing his face, giving John enough time to crawl further away from him, closer to the door._

_“Dad,” he managed._

_His father must’ve been seeing red at this point. He threw the bottle at the wall behind John, causing it to shatter and run down the wall to the floor. Henry finally took his hand off his eye and choked out a frail, brittle laugh that scared John more than anything ever had._

_“Stay down,” Henry said, looking at his son who was still trying to get on his feet._

_John didn’t know what was going to happen, couldn’t even guess what came next. But he was hurting, he was hurting so damn bad. This had already gone too far. He should’ve kept his fucking mouth shut when he had the chance._

_He sank back down to the ground, a silent plea, a surrender decorated in blood. He didn’t even look up, but he saw his fathers feet start walking away._

_He breathed in as much as his ribs would let him and let it out. He was trying to stay calm, trying to keep himself from either crying or passing out, he wasn’t sure which._

_John listened for the front door, he assumed Henry had left, but he never heard anything. He sat in the same spot for several minutes before he heard anything from his dad, and when he did it sent shivers up his spine._

_He didn’t notice it at first, thought his dad had just walked out to collect himself then right back in. At first it was a glimpse, a tiny shimmer against the light of their living room, coming from his father’s right hand. Once he realized what he had, his mouth went dry._

_“Dad,” he tried. “Dad, what is that?”_

_There were tears, John was sure he was seeing it wrong. “Dad,” he said again, voice shaking. “What’s in your hand?”_

_Henry stood still._

_“Dad,” His voice broke completely with a sob._

 

“And you’re expecting us to believe your father was the one who brought the gun out?” John could hear the eye-roll in Jefferson’s voice.

“He did,” John said, defeated. “I don’t care what you believe. He had the key, he kept it hidden so none of the kids would get it, just in case. I’d never seen the thing outside of the glass until that night.”

“But you knew how to use it.”

“It’s a pistol. He loaded and cocked it, from there it’s straightforward, even for me.”

“Even, by some stretch of the imagination your father actually had the gun, which he likely did not, why were you so sure he was planning to use it on you.”

“I was lying on the floor bleeding from several places on my body. He was standing up looking at me, and he was mad. Still mad, but he was the eerie calm mad. The one right before he does something awful. It’s what he did when he caught me and Ben.”

“And you wrestled the gun from him?” Jefferson asked.

“When he didn’t answer me, yeah. I was terrified. I didn’t want to die right then. I kept thinking about—“ he stopped abruptly, emotion swelling up inside him. “I kept thinking about the kids. I didn’t know what would happen to them if I couldn’t help them anymore.”

“Yet they’ve had to find that out anyway, so you’ll understand why I find that point to be not entirely truthful.”

“Okay,” John said.

“Continue, please."

 

_It happened before John even understood what he did._

_He was on his feet, suddenly he couldn’t feel where his rubs were pulling him down or where his head was throbbing. He ran towards the man in front of him without really knowing what would happen when he reached him._

_Maybe it was a Laurens thing, maybe all of them lacked the flight response and went immediately to fight._

_He lifted a fist and swung, actually catching his father in the face. He stumbled back, injured, caught off guard, and suddenly everything shifted._

_John wasn’t helpless. Fighting back was an option, it always had been._

_The realization hit him harder than his father ever did, and suddenly he was as big and tall as his father had been, and he was stronger than he’d ever been._

_Of course, Henry fought, used all of the same tactics, tried to speak when John really wasn’t able to listen to anything anymore. It happened quick, the two of them throwing punches, pushing each other into furniture, and finally, in the midst of that, John got the gun._

_When he looked up they had both reached the kitchen. They were both in the kitchen, the same one his mother used to dance and bake cookies in. All the positive energy was gone, it was just the two of them now. They were both hurt, but John had the gun, and suddenly he was in charge of how this went._

_The clarity hit him suddenly, a quick and sudden jolt that this didn’t need to go any further. Both of them had stopped, again squaring off, looking each other in the eye. Henry spoke._

_“Give me the gun, boy.”_

_He must’ve seen John, must’ve seen the power in his eyes, the feral energy radiating out of him. For the first time ever, he looked scared of his son. John wasn’t sure if he was happy, but he was surprised and high off the feeling._

_“You were gonna shoot me.”_

_“I wasn’t.”_

_“You were gonna fucking shoot me!” He screamed, shaking. “You were gonna shoot me!”_

_“Johnny, put the gun down.”_

_“You were gonna kill me!”_

_“Drop the gun.”_

_“You were gonna kill me.”_

_“Calm down.”_

_“You—“_

_Henry was on him then, charging him in the same way John had charged him earlier, sending John flying back into the kitchen counter.  He put one hand tangled in John’s hair, ripping it from the root, and the other on his throat._

_“I still fucking will!” He shouted, face inches away from John’s._

_And there was a loud noise, John felt it echo in his bones, loud, out of place and startling like a car crash at midnight. John flinched, Henry flinched, and stepped back. He was moving back, surrendering. John noticed he was bending over, hand over his stomach, eyes wide. He was bleeding._

_John looked down at the gun in his hands, then back up at his father._

_Another loud noise. He flinched again, his father fell back._

_And that was it. Was that it? Was it over? John panicked, still not sure he wasn’t the one with bullets in him. He looked down and noticed the gun was still up, still pointed where his father had been standing. It was shaking, he was shaking. He lowered it without thinking._

_He felt his legs bend and sink into the floor, he sat, and just stared, panting. His father was dead, or maybe he wasn’t yet. He looked like he was. John felt like maybe he was too._

_Time passed, hazel eyes locked onto the body on the ground. Processing. Did that happen? No, no that didn't happen. It didn't. This wasn't real. God, Jesus, he wished none of this happened._

_He wasn’t sure how long until he picked up his phone. Maria had finally texted back._

**_Lol nothing much, what’s up with you? :P_ **

_He swiped past the text and dialed 911._

_“911, where is your emergency?”_

 

The room was silent, even the ever elusive Jefferson took a few moments to adjust.

“No matter what you may say, you realize that, even with forensics, we cannot fully confirm the events. And we need actual proof you were in mortal danger when you killed your father, and you’ve not provided that.”

Alex wanted to smack the shit out of that goofy haired bastard up front. He was still trying to switch shit up, even after all this.

“Nothing further.”

“Jesus,” Laf whispered. “I don’t think I can sit through his closing statement.”

“I may be the next one on trial,” Alex murmured, eyeing the back of Jefferson’s head with venom. 

The bailiff escorted John back to his seat in between Herc and Burr. He sat, head down, tears still in his eyes. Herc tried to give him a reassuring smile, but John just didn’t look up. 

“I believe this trial has stretched on long enough, we’ll be forgoing any preparation adjournment and go right to closing arguments. Is everyone ready?”

There were a few tense moments, nobody had really expected it to go this soon. Burr spoke.

“We are, your honor.”

“State?”

“Ready, your honor.”

“Defense may proceed.”

Burr and Herc exchanged a quick glance over John’s head. Herc got onto his feet and cooly made his way to the jury.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, thank you so much for your time and dedication here,” Herc started, forever trying to butter the jury up. “It’s a sacrifice. You’ve sacrificed a lot to be here, and on behalf of both the defense and likely the state, I’d like to say we appreciate your dedication and effort here. It means a lot to us, and it means a lot for the American judicial system.”

Alex rolled his eyes. Just because he pulled lawyer tricks like that all the time didn’t make them any less laughable.

“Now, just an aside, let me tell you how this works. You’ve been so very patient with us, ladies and gentlemen, and I want to make sure you understand what’s happening every step of the way. Here, now, in front of you, I say my final piece. This is my last time to speak to you all, and I hope to make it count. I’m going to walk you through some evidence, and I know you’ve heard it all already. Some of it, some of the witness testimonies, were maybe not as clear as we would’ve liked, and I’m going to be taking some time to interpret that which may have been lost in translation. After, I plan to remind you of our duty here in this courtroom, and after that, I am going to tell you what is perhaps my biggest fear of all. Now, after I finish here, Mister Jefferson will be called to make his closing statements. Then, Judge Washington will give you some reminders, and then this is out of our hands,” he gestured to the lawyers in the room. “And into yours. We trust you with this.

“Now, we’ve had to spend so much time debunking false accusations that we haven't been able to spend as much time as we’d like presenting evidence. You see, ladies and gentlemen, the state’s case in built almost entirely on the foundation of your emotions being easily manipulated. They’ve tried to paint John as a criminal, a cold blooded murder. They played the 911 tape in hopes of disgusting you, in hopes of persuading you that John Laurens murdered his father in cold blood, but that’s not how it made you feel, is it?

“That 911 tape proves something else entirely. It’s heartbreaking. The voice on that tape is not the voice of an actor or a deranged killer, but that of a scared seventeen year old boy. He’s desperate, he’s confused, and he’s hurt. Given his known mental illness at the time, sparred on by the unimaginable violence he faced that night, he still seemed almost in a trance. He admitted to it. The state’s job here is far from normal in that they don’t have to prove John killed his father. He did. John Laurens killed his father, this is a fact. The state must prove he wasn’t in danger, and, honestly?” Herc walked back to his desk to pick up a huge poster board Alex hadn’t noticed until just now.

He picked it up, he saw Jefferson start to rise out of the corner of his eye, and Burr butted in.

“It’s exhibit 17. Pre-approved by both you and Judge Washington,” he said before Jefferson could open his mouth. "It's legal."

Jefferson sat back, defeated.

Herc smiled and set up the poster, and Alex felt his whole stomach tie up in knots. It was John, John like they’d seen him the first time. Under harsh fluorescent lights, bleeding, bruised, and broken, looking limply into the camera.

“Does this look like the face of a boy not in danger to you?” Herc asked. He paused for almost a minute, forcing the image into the brain of the jury. “He was half dead by the time the police found him. He managed to limp out of his house, hands above his head, surrendering completely to the law. Once he snapped out of the trance, he knew what he did was wrong, and he was ready to answer for it. But, here in America, that’s not how the law works. He shouldn't have to answer for what he did, because he did it to save his own life.

“Those forensics you all saw? The blood spatter evidence, fingerprints, everything? It further proves my point. John Laurens was in mortal danger. His blood was all over that house, you can’t look at that evidence and suggest otherwise. It’s not possible. Given Henry Laurens’ proven history of violence, I imagine you’ll all understand why I find it easy to believe it was at his hands that John faced the literal fight of his life.

“But, yes, the evidence says he fought back. John himself says he fought back. When things got intense enough, John defended himself in the only way he’d ever known: with violence. He defended himself the way Henry Laurens had beat him a hundred times before that. This enraged Henry, making him fight harder. One broken rib, one cracked rib, broken nose, partially shattered cheek bone, grade two concussion. Need I go on?” Herc asked, then gestured to the picture. “Because I can. But, the point here, ladies and gentlemen, is that you cannot let anyone convince you John Laurens was not in danger. Any man of a mind to inflict damage like that onto his own son, is a man you can be sure is capable of killing.

“And the gun in the case? It’s Henry’s. We’ve established who brought the gun out, John cleared that up for us in his testimony. Yes, getting the gun, loading it, and bringing it into the living room was a methodical, deliberate act, but it was not done by John Laurens. It was done by the man who just minutes earlier had threatened to actually shoot him in the head.

“Another key piece of the state’s case is the will. We cannot prod John’s brain and see if he was ever told about the will, but we know the information would not be shared unless Henry wanted it to be. We have evidence Henry liked to keep finances from his children. Naturally, this makes sense. Furthermore, John was never cut off from his father. Henry had no plans of cutting any funding to him, he had planned to pay his way through college. What motive would John have had for killing the man who was willing to give his children any amount they asked for?

“Our duty here is to look objectively at these facts and figure it out. Piece together what we can do inside of the law. I know every one of you will take it upon yourself to do this right, to get every piece of information both about the law and about the case, and from the bottom of my heart I thank you for that.

“Now, onto my final point: my fear. My one fear, above all else, is that you will let the hateful rhetoric devised against my client in some way sway your views of him. We cannot play into the hands of those who try to sweep the law under the rug and appeal to your emotions rather than your sense. Ladies and gentlemen, I've done what I can do. I’ve given you the facts, given you the meaning, the evidence, the law, everything. You know what I know, and I imagine we’ll be on the same side by the end of all this. Thank you all.”

Alex let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “He’s good,” Laf whispered.

“Very,” Alex nodded.

“The state may go on with their closing arguments,” Washington announced.

Jefferson nodded, hesitating just a few seconds before rising out of his seat. Alex read right through him. He knew John's testimony would shake him up.

“Thank you, your honor,” Jefferson responded with his best lawyer smile, getting up and filling the space previously occupied by Herc.

“I’d like to start by thanking you all,” Jefferson said. “As Mister Mulligan said, and this is perhaps the only thing I agree with him on, is that you’ve all made a huge sacrifice to be here today to defend and preserve the law, and we appreciate it more than we show. Now, I don’t have a grand plan here. I’m here to prove what the defendant did was unwarranted and wrong. You all saw how the defense had their exhibit blown onto a poster board. Well, ladies and gentlemen, great minds think alike.”

He walked to Madison’s empty seat and unfolded a large trifold, then looked back at Burr. “Exhibit four. It’s legal,” he smiled, and set up the picture.

Alex felt like he didn't even have to look. It was Henry's body, it had to be. That was Jefferson's style, flash and trash. Shock the jury, and use their vulnerability. He rolled his eyes.

Jefferson set his picture up, and Alex was actually surprised. It was a picture of Henry Laurens, not bloody and dead on the ground, but one of him and his family. Probably the most recent picture they could find of him and his children. John right next to him, the younger kids scattered around the frame. It was posed, in front of a wallpaper, but it was genuine enough.

“I don’t want to prey on your emotions, ladies and gentlemen. I’m not here for shock value, I’m here for truth. If you wanted the truth, here it is. Henry Laurens, single parent, struggling politician, victim.”

Alex jolted at that, Laf put an arm in front of him as a silent warning. They exchanged eye contact. “Don’t make a scene.”

“When we first spoke, back in the beginning of this trial, I asked if there was any situation in which murder could be forgiven. And, yes, I believe it sometimes can. But, as any lawyer will tell you, self defense is a tricky course, a slippery slope. It’s filled with clauses and specifics that are so very hard to prove, To be honest, we’ve had our case cut out for us since John Laurens first made that famous 911 call. Allow me to explain just why the defense cannot get away with their self-defense claim.

“First, let’s look at the law. How do you go about proving self defense? Well, simple. First rule of self defense—“

“ _Fuck_ ,” Alex whispered, Laf raised an eyebrow.

“The defendant cannot have instigated the situation. If you’ll recall, ladies and gentlemen, John Laurens threw the first punch.”

John looked up suddenly, then over at Herc, who kept looking at Jefferson. They talked about this early on, how they’d lie about who instigated the violence. It was technicallystill possible for John to get off as he hadn’t instigated the _fight_ , just the violence, but that was a flimsy excuse and they knew it.

Laf looked at Alex, eyes wide with anger. “He never had a chance,” they whispered. “And you didn’t tell him.”

“Shall I go on?” Jefferson asked as the usual smug smile disappeared from his face. “Let’s remember: John Laurens threw the first punch. Henry had not been violent until he had to defend himself from the abuses of his own son. The next rule of self defense: the degree of force used by the defendant must be proportionate to the perceived threat. Young, muscular John Laurens against an old, overweight man is not a fair fight. The gun, no matter who first got it from the case, was not an equalizer, but an advantage, one that John wrestled from his father and used against him. Was the degree of force proportionate to the threat? Of course not.”

It was stupid, stupid of Alex to trust Jefferson's closing statements to not be fully condemning. It didn't matter his personal feelings, Jefferson always had to win. 

Jefferson paused, and shrugged. “I could go on, but you’re reasonable people. You understand. The defense has spent so much time wasted on minor details, reaching for any excuse to make the defendant seem innocent, seem like the victim when his father is the one dead. I trust you all remember what I said at the beginning of the trial, about the abyss. You all know the truth, take the law, take the facts, take the evidence, and come to your conclusion. And, above all, do not let the abyss gaze into you on the way.”

Jefferson retreated and took his seat. When Washington finally dismissed the jury and the lawyers were free to leave, Jefferson bolted, pushing open the doors. He was in a hurry, but Alex read his face like a book. He sprung up after him, pushed his way through and followed him back to his office.

 

 

“Thomas.”

Jefferson whipped around. “Out of my office, Alexander.”

Alex closed the door behind him. "You really just did that, huh?"

“I did my job.”

“You killed him.”

Jefferson bit the inside of his cheek, a mannerism Alex recognized from the conversations they used to have. “I did my job,” he said, quieter this time.

“You know, I thought, I _really_ thought you’d understand. I thought you’d understand when we got to his sexuality. I thought you’d understand when he got to his childhood. I was confident you’d get it.”

Jefferson had taken a seat and was just staring up at Alex.

“He is you, Thomas. You’re practically the same damn person. Look me in the eyes and tell me you feel okay defending Henry Laurens when he’s a perfect fucking mirror of your father.”

“You know what, Alex?” Jefferson stood. “I do see my father in Henry. And you know what else? I miss that man everyday. I’ve thought about that bastard every day since he passed,” tears sprung to his eyes. “Your client didn’t have the right. Nobody has the right. He didn’t have it any tougher than I did. It’s in his personality. You’re right, we’re similar, but I didn’t end up killing anyone, he shouldn’t have either. He needs help, he can’t be here with the rest of us. Somethings wrong there, Alex. Don’t bullshit me and pretend there’s not.”

“Henry was going to shoot him.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“Thomas—“

“Show me the damn tape!” He snapped,  slamming his palms against the table. “Show me proof he had the right to do that, and I’ll drop the whole damn case right now.”

"I've done what I can do," Alex said quietly. "I've done  _all_ I can do. I guess you can say the same." And with that, he turned around and left right out of the door. Jefferson said something else, but Alex just shut the door behind him. He didn’t have time. He needed to see John while he still could.

 

 

 

By the time Alex made it to HQ, Burr, Herc, Laf, and John were sitting in silence. Alex was breathless.

“John,” was all he managed to say, John looked at him and gave what had to be a fake smile.

“It’s okay, Alex. I’m glad you tried, that’s all,” he said, blinking tears back out of his eyes. “Really. You all put in so much work for me, this is more effort anybody has put into helping me, ever I think,” he laughed dryly. “Thank you. Besides, it’s not the end of the world. It’s prison, it’s a transfer, it’s not a death penalty or anything.”

Burr nodded. “That’s true.”

Nobody spoke up about where John would be sent. They would save that for later.

Alex was still standing, just staring at John, who was staring at him. He wanted to cry, wanted to scream and tear the building apart. It wasn’t fair. They didn’t get it. 

“Hercules, Aaron, follow me,” Laf stood and made their way to one of the doors. 

“Why?” Burr asked, Herc was already moving to join Laf.

“Because I goddamn said so,” they snapped, Burr rose immediately and left with the other two, sparing a glance back at John and Alex.

When the door closed, Alex stood still. John gestured to the seat next to him, Alex felt his feet carry him there almost automatically.

“You feel guilty,” John said.

Alex didn’t respond.

“Wanna make things better?” He asked. 

“Of course I fucking do,” he whispered wetly.

“You said you wouldn’t tell me the story of your life in a prison cafeteria. How about here?” John asked.

Alex almost scoffed. “Is this seriously what you wanna do right now?”

“Hey, I don’t know how long deliberation is gonna take. Tell me your story while I'm a free man,” John smiled, a bit of humor coming back to him. “I wanna hear it.”

And, looking into those big hazel eyes, how could Alex ever really say no?

“I was born in Nevis. Islander shit, as your prison buddy says,” Alex said, John smiled. “Both me and my older brother were born illegitimate, which was kind of scandalous to everybody. Dad left, and both me and mom got sick. I don’t know what it was, but neither did the doctors there. We just kind of suffered through it. And she died there, in the room with me while we were sick.”

“I’m sorry,” John said quietly.

Alex shrugged. “It’s— it was expected. They thought I’d go first, and I kept thinking I would die, and then I just got better. Didn’t know how to live without her. I was twelve. After that, James— my brother— and I went to live with our cousin Peter. And, he ended up hanging himself in his closet.”

“Jesus Christ,” John whispered.

Alex shrugged. “I cut him down, and the cops came and that was that. He was gone. By then James and I were old enough to work, well, not legally, but we were smart enough to get by with it. We clerked at different places, I didn’t see much of him after that. There was a hurricane, I went and wrote a piece about it and submitted it to the local paper, and they published it. Everybody there chipped in to help me come here and get an education,” he shrugged. “So I came here, met these punks,” he gestured at Herc and Laf’s stuff still on the table. “And, I guess you know the rest.”

“Jefferson?” John asked.

“You’re really not letting that one go, are you?” Alex smiled.

“Hell no.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “Fair enough. Met Jefferson at a party, and turned him down immediately. There was a girl who seemed real cute, and she gave me a drink. We talked, and I start feeling light headed. A couple other girls come out of nowhere and start propping me up, saying they’ll take me home. I passed out, woke up on Jefferson’s futon. That’s how I learned not to take open drinks from strangers,” Alex laughed. “So, yeah, I mean, he pretty much saved the day for me there. He was sweet, gave me water, told me what happened. I didn’t think he was telling the truth at first. You never hear about it happening to guys, you know? But he stepped in, and when I woke up he took me back to my dorm, didn’t ask for my number or anything.”

“He was sweet?” John raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, yeah,” Alex laughed. “He’s a piece of shit, but that’s his job. He’s not a bad person. He… he came up similar to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rich, southern, had a dad who wasn’t fond of being gay.”

“Shit.”

“His dad got cancer, died a few months after we got together. We dated for two and a half years, and eventually Herc talked me into breaking up with him.”

“Why?”

“He just wasn’t good for me. Not good with relationships. He was really controlling, kind of possessive. He always felt like he was protecting me from something, it got kind of out of hand. So, yeah, I broke up with him. It sucked, but I’m glad I did. I was ten pounds lighter walking out of his house that day. I can’t explain it. I loved him, but I was suddenly free, you know? Didn’t have to check in with him, didn’t have to tell him who I was hanging out with, none of that. It was a pretty drastic change,” Alex laughed. “But yeah. Then we meet again here.”

“You loved him,” John said, not really a question.

“I did,” Alex nodded, looking at him. 

John bit his lip. “Like I love you?”

Alex felt tears come to his eyes. “You don’t know me, John.”

“I love you,” he repeated.

And, God, he was so genuine, so full of sincerity Alex’s heart broke. “Don’t say that.”

“I love you.”

John leaned in and kissed him, and Alex’s brain didn’t even register it. It was automatic, he kissed back like he’d been practicing for it his whole life.

“I may never see you again,” John panted when they pulled apart, foreheads resting against one another. “I had to say it. I don’t care if you say it back.”

Alex reached out to John’s neck feeling along his collar bone for the necklace there. John arched back, bared his whole neck, so willfully, so purposefully. 

It hadn’t been Alex’s plan to kiss his neck, but with an offering like that how could he say no? He reached and grabbed the necklace John had on in one hand, and the harsh line of John’s jaw in the other. He leaned down and dragged his lips softly across his neck, planting lazy, wet kisses from his collarbone to his ear. John made a noise that Alex tried his hardest not to classify as a moan. “Of course I love you, you massive idiot,” Alex whispered, and John laughed, mood changing to a slightly lighter one. John moved his face back down to look at Alex, and again they kissed.

How far were they going to take this? _Not far enough,_ a voice in Alex’s head mumbled.

Alex had almost forgotten John had hands until he slid one down his torso and used both to grab onto his hips. By then, their position in the chairs had started to get uncomfortable, but Alex knew better than to move to an easier access spot. John was still making those precious little sounds under his lips, Alex used every ounce of his self control to keep his focus on John’s neck and lips. He eventually ventured up to his ear and gave a small nibble, to which John moaned in such a way Alex had to physically move himself off him. 

“Nope,” he said quietly, putting distance between them. “Tall glass of nope.”

John looked at him, dazed, lips red and cheeks flushed, completely out of breath. “What?” He asked.

“Can’t keep this up,” Alex said. “‘Fuck.”

John gave a light laugh, God he was perfect. 

“They’re done,” Herc came bursting through the door suddenly, Alex and John flew apart from one another, looking at him guiltily.

“Idiots,” Herc added under his breath.

“John,” Burr poked his head in the door. “Holding room. You remember how to act when they read the verdict?”

“Uhm, yeah,” John nodded, still coming back down to earth. “Don’t act like anything.”

“Right. Be a statue,” Burr said, motioning for John to follow him. John did as he was told, looking back at Alex briefly. When they left, Burr raised an eyebrow.

“I fucking knew it,” Herc said. 

“Please don’t.”

“I knew you’d be doing some unholy shit up in here.”

“It wasn’t—“

“Did you fuck on my briefcase?” Herc asked, full seriousness.

“We didn’t fuck anywhere!”

“As long as it wasn’t on my briefcase, I’m fine.”

“Can you drop this?”

Herc looked down almost sadly. “Trying to lighten the mood, here. They reached their verdict awful quick.”

“How long?”

“Less than an hour.”

“Fuck,” Alex said.

“Laf’s in the courtroom saving your seat,” Herc gestured outside. 

“Right, thanks,” Alex said, then stopped in the doorway. “You did what you could,” he said. “We all did.”

Herc nodded solemnly. “See you out there.”

Alex left to find Laf, who was actively arguing with a middle aged woman about the seat he was saving. Alex ended the argument by squirming past her and plopping right down in the space in question.

Her jaw dropped a bit, but she moved on without much complaint.

“Took them 46 minutes,” Laf said, changing the subject completely. It wasn’t the first time he’d fought for his friends, it likely wouldn’t be the last either. “46 minutes to decide how John’s whole life would turn out.”

“Sometimes that’s how it goes,” Alex said quietly. “Nothing we can do anymore.”

Burr entered about the same time as Jefferson, who didn’t even spare him a glance. He kept his head up the whole way, notably not looking at Alex in the audience. Herc entered soon after Burr, then the bailiff gave the all rise for Washington.

John was brought in, took his usual seat. He was put together again, less disheveled, suddenly as serious looking as Alex had ever seen him. 

They all knew how this would end.

“Rise for the jury,” Washington said, the floor was silent as twelve people walked in, one after another, complete game faces on.

“Would the foreman like to address the verdict at this time?” Washington asked.

An overweight blonde man stood up, cleared his throat, and spoke. “I would, your honor,” he said.

“Proceed.”

It was like a blanket fell over the room, Alex couldn't even move, he was holding white-knuckled onto the hopes that maybe, somehow, they’d voted in John’s favor. Maybe somehow they could understand. They’d understand if they could just know John like he did.

John spared a look back at Alex, and Alex just nodded, trying to be reassuring. John wasn’t scared or angry, he was calm. He didn’t care what happened. He knew from the beginning where he would likely end up.

“Mister Foreman, please proceed with your statements,” Washington said.

The foreman, obviously nervous, nodded and looked down at his paper. “For the trial of the State of New York vs. John Laurens, referring to case number 201679C5F-0. As for the charge of first degree murder, we the jury were unable to reach a verdict as the charges were dropped by the state on this fifth day of December, year—“

“What?!” Alex practically shouted, followed by a cacophony of other voices in the courtroom.

“Order!” Washington said, turning his gaze specifically to Alex. The court went dead silent again.

“Year 2016,” the foreman finished.

Alex blinked. He could only see the back of Jefferson’s head, he was standing tall, looking forward. That’s about all Alex could get from it.

“Thank you,” Washington said, nodding to the nervous foreman. “With this, suffice to say this trial has come to a close.”

He went through the motions, adjourned the court, and that was it.

That was it. It was really over.

Alex ran as fast as he could to HQ where he knew they’d be bringing John. Burr stepped in first, followed by John. Alex wrapped him in a hug, blocking Herc from coming in the doorway. He was crying, he didn’t realize it until right then. Herc shoved the both of them inside and shut the door behind them.

Alex still had his arms around John, who seemed like he was in shock. “John,” he said, looking at him. “John, do you get what this means?”

“Yeah,” John nodded slowly. “Yeah, I get it.”

“You’re free.”

Herc and Laf shared an overjoyed high-five while Burr stood still, raising an eyebrow. He pointed at John and Alex.

“Is there something here I should know?” He asked.

“Nope,” Laf answered. “Mind your business.”

Belatedly, Alex noticed John still wasn’t on board, still wasn’t feeling even an ounce of the jubilation Alex was. 

“John?”

John shook his head. “Why would he do that?” He asked.

“Because he understood the case, and knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he’d been the one to put you away,” Alex said.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know, John,” Alex said. “Trust me, I know.”

“I want to talk to him,” Herc said. “I’ll take that bastard out for a drink after this, I don’t give a fuck.”

“He won’t,” Alex shook his head. “Fifty bucks says he won’t talk about it.”

“You’re on,” Herc grinned, and made his way out of the room, presumably to find Jefferson.

“I don’t think he should’ve done that,” John whispered to Alex, whose whole world suddenly shifted around him.

“What?”

“I killed somebody, Alex.”

“Because he was going to kill you.”

“But he didn’t.” 

“Because you defended yourself.”

“It doesn’t matter,” John said tiredly. “I don’t feel like we’ve won anything. I still did what I did.”

“Yeah,” Alex nodded. “Yeah, you did. And you’re gonna have to live with it for the rest of your life. No one is expecting you to suddenly feel okay about this, John. It’d be weird if you did.”

John just swallowed and nodded.

“We’ll get you help,” Burr spoke up from his seat. He’d propped his feet up on the table and was scrolling mindlessly through his phone. “I know a guy.”

“Not Monroe, probably,” Alex said. “I mean, unless you want to go back to that guy.”

John shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“We’ll get it figured out, okay?” Alex cupped a hand around John’s face. “We’ll get it all figured out, I promise you.”

John nodded.

Herc popped his head back in the door. “Rotten bastard packed his shit and left.”

“Fifty,” Alex hummed, Herc groaned in response.

“I wanna see the kids,” John said quietly. “How can I go see them?”

“They’re with your aunt, right?” Herc asked. “You know how, we’ll take you if you want.”

John shook his head. “I don’t think they want to see me.”

“James does,” Alex said. “James does, for sure. It’s worth the trip just for him. We can pick up your car and stuff on the way back, huh?” Alex smiled.

“I still need to take care of the kids,” John said, still in a daze. 

“I think your aunt and uncle have custody, brother,” Herc said.

“They do,” Burr confirmed.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t spend time with them,” Alex said.

“Unless they don’t want you to,” Burr said.

“Hey, quick question, why don’t you go fuck yourself?” Alex asked, and Laf snorted.

“Let’s go see James, huh?” Alex turned to John.

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue coming shortly after, which will deal with all the fun stuff and, yes, all the not so fun stuff. Because this is way too dark of a story to leave off happy go lucky, ya know? It will also include a mucho-payoff of the necklace, in case any of you were still wondering exactly why Alex gave it to John.
> 
> Love you all, love the Hamilton fandom, love everyone who's been kind enough to leave a comment or a kudos, and even those ghost readers out there I see y'all and y'all are cool too. I know some of you are invested in this, and I hope this ending didn't let you down. (tbh one of the first drafts John was guilty and that was some HEAVY shit y'all I was having none of that no sir.)
> 
> Anyway, thanks to mayaschuyler for the prompt, and thanks to all y'all for reading what I write. It means so much, it keeps me going, and it's made me a better storyteller. If there's any prompt requests, send 'em my way and I'll see what I can do. BUT I'll do the epilogue first I promise then this will be DONE!!! Wild concept, I know.
> 
> All the love, xissiar


	7. The Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is about 3 years after where we last left off

The four of them sat, as they had in the past, around the living room. Two empty pizza boxes littered the floor around them. Alex was jittery, bouncing his knee up and down. Soon after he booted up his Macbook, he realized he couldn’t bring himself to look at the results and handed it to John.

“It goes by last name,” Alex said nervously. “So, like, when the results come in, look for Hamilton.”

“I know,” John nodded. “Still have two minutes before anything’s posted.”

“They might do it early?” Alex offered.

“Nope,” Herc said. “They won’t. New York Bar Association knows what they’re doing, they don’t fuck with the Bar Exam results. They’ll have hundreds of lawyers after them, and that’s not in a good position to be in.”

Alex had been in a state of constant disarray for weeks, driving himself insane waiting on the Bar Exam results. Miserably, the only things going through his head was that he couldn't fail, couldn't let anyone down. For him, the stakes felt astronomical. Failure would mean damn near everyone on Nevis wasting their money to send him here, failure would mean Burr was right to kick him off the trial, failure would mean he wasn’t good enough.

"Quit freaking out," John said, as if he could read his mind.

Turning to look next to him on the couch, Alex saw John, gorgeous as ever, even in the middle of his emotional turmoil. He was sporting his Laf-inspired undercut, hair in a bun, sweatpants, dried paint still on his arms from his classes earlier that day. That same necklace around his neck, falling into his t-shirt. He held the computer gently, refreshing the page every now and again, just to make sure Alex got his results exactly on time. Two hazel eyes trained on Alex in an attempt to understand how he was feeling.

Alex sighed, put his head in his hands. John rubbed a comforting hand across his back.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick, worrying like this,” he said.

“Yeah, no dip,” Alex muttered, looking back up. 

“One minute,” Laf hummed, taking a small sip of water.

In response, Alex just put all his energy into a full body groan that sounded more animal than human.

“It’s okay, Alex,” John assured. “Everything’s gonna work out.”

“Don’t wanna fail,” Alex said pitifully.

“Neither do any of the other poor motherfuckers that are about to find out they failed,” Herc said. “Madison didn’t pass the first time, remember? I don’t think Burr did, either.”

“The day I hold myself to Madison or Burr’s standards is the day I fucking shoot myself in the throat.”

“So aggressive,” Laf said.

“I have to pass,” Alex said, arms out, eyes wide. “I just have to. I’m gonna fucking explode if I don’t.”

“You’ll pass, calm down,” John said.

“Coming from an individual who’s never faced the bar exam, that statement makes sense,” Alex snapped.

“Fine, keep being an asshole to your loving boyfriend, see where that—“

“REFRESH, BITCH,” Alex stuttered, looking at the time on his phone. John quickly hit refresh on the computer.

“Well???” Alex asked impatiently.

“It’s taking forever to load.”

“Every wannabe lawyer in the state is on that page right now,” Laf said. “Of course it’ll take a moment.”

A few seconds felt like hours to Alex as he sat, knee bouncing, on the edge of his seat. Across from him, Herc was staying very still, very concentrated, just a hint of nerves on his face.

“It loaded,” John finally said, quietly scrolling.

Alex saw him mouth through the names on the way down, looking to see any change. “Haifer, Halton,” John muttered, scrolling. He stopped abruptly and turned to Alex next to him.

“Well?”

“You did it,” John broke and smiled. 

“I did it?”

“You did it.”

“I did it!” 

Across from them, Herc yelled out a triumphant “Hell _yes_!” and kicked over their (thankfully clear) coffee table. Behind their cell phone camera Laf giggled deliriously, Alex leapt out of his seat, shoved the computer from John’s lap onto the ground, and put his lips on his.

“You did it,” John whispered when they came up for air. Alex nodded, dove back in.

“PDA, Mister Lawyer man,” Herc said. “Not very professional.”

Alex held up a hand and flipped him off silently, Herc rolled his eyes.

“So who’s gonna be your date to the induction ceremony?” Herc asked.

Alex broke away from John, glanced at his friends, back to his boyfriend. “I know a guy,” he said, and John beamed.

 

 

 

 

“Proud of you, Alex,” John said to the still jittery newfound-lawyer beside him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” Alex flopped his back onto the bed, sprawled with his hands behind his head, and stared up at John.

“You worked for it, that’s for sure,” John said.

Alex was silent, raised his eyebrows.

“What?” John asked.

“Are you gonna come lay with me or are you gonna keep sitting there like my fucking grandmother or something?”

John snorted out a laugh. “You know, I _was_ gonna lay with you, but I’ll keep sitting here just to piss you off a bit more.”

“That’s cold, Laurens.”

“Ice cold.”

“You have a shitty back. You won’t keep sitting up for long,” Alex sighed.

“That a challenge?”

“No, you shithead of course it’s not a challenge I don’t want you to ache—“

“Too late, you’ve made it a challenge.”

“You’re really fighting me on this, huh?”

“It’s not a fight unless you fight back.”

“Are we fighting right now?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Damn,” Alex said. “What can I do to win you over?”

“Fame, fortune, really good sex.”

“I can offer you one of the three.”

“Ehh, not good enough. What else you got?”

“I’ll steal Herc’s jersey that you like so much.”

“Nah.”

“I’ll blackmail your art history teacher into not failing you?”

“Now that I can work with. Throw in the really good sex and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Done.”

John nodded. “That’ll do.” He laid down and curled up with his head on Alex’s chest, smiled happily. 

Alex felt his whole heart grow. John's affection was... finicky, to say the least. Some days he wouldn't want to be touched at all, some days it was fine. Alex really didn't have a gauge for that kind of thing, just listened and watched for any signals John would give out. Touching him, kissing him, cuddling, anything would always feel like a privilege to Alex. Like the boy in his arms was something delicate, something fleeting. 

“So how were classes, anyway?” He asked, tenderly raking his fingers through John's curls.

“Well, I didn’t get to have lunch with my friends, so that kind of sucked.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had a project that I didn’t start that was due at three, so I found an empty studio and did the whole thing in four hours.”

“Is that why you have specks of orange paint in your hair?” Alex asked.

“That’d be why.”

“Ah. Anything else?”

John paused, thought for a moment. “Saw a dog on my way home.”

“Nice.”

John nodded. “James called, he wants me to teach him how to drive.”

“That’s sweet.”

“You’re coming.”

“Like hell I am.”

“Which one of us wears the pants in this relationship, Alexander?”

“Preferably neither of us.”

John snorted. “Goddammit.”

“Oh, Burr called by the way.”

John raised his eyebrows. “You’re kidding me.”

“Congratulated me on the results.”

John couldn’t help but smile. “Look, I know you don’t like the guy, but… that’s really sweet.”

“Is it?”

“That literally means he went online and checked the Bar Exam results just to see if you passed so he could call. He’s got a good heart.”

Alex nodded. “He sounded genuine enough.”

“Happy you two are civil now,” John smiled.

There was a brief pause. “Are we actually gonna sleep tonight?” Alex asked.

“We can try.”

“You gotta turn off the lights, though.”

“Lazy,” John muttered, but got up and flicked off their light switch, pounced back onto the bed. He put his face back on Alex’s chest and nuzzled.

“Lose the shirt,” John mumbled.

“Um, excuse you. My body my rules, Mister Laurens.”

“Fine then,” John said.

They sat in silence for just a moment before Alex relented, rose up and peeled his shirt off, threw it on the floor, and laid back down.

“Happy?” Alex asked as John nuzzled back up.

“Yeah.”

“Lose the underwear.”

“It doesn’t work like that.” 

 

 

 

_“Dad, Dad what is that?”_

_Henry stood in front of his son, empty handed, a confused look on his face._

_“Dad, what’s in your hand? Dad!”_

_Henry shook his head and held out both empty hands. “I don’t have anything, Johnny.”_

_“You…” John trailed off. “You had a gun,” he said helplessly._

_“You have a gun,” his father gestured to John’s right hand, where he was clutching a pistol. “I have a flower.”_

_John blinked, and then there was a sunflower, a bright, yellow, sunflower, in his father’s hand. The rest of the world went black and white, save for the lonely yellow of the flower._

_“Dad?” He asked._

_“Beautiful, huh?” Henry asked, gesturing to it._

_“Yes.”_

_Henry looked at him, and started laughing. The perfect image of the sunflower started to decay in his hand, petals shriveling up and falling off one by one._

_When the flower was bare, his father doubled over, blood pouring out of his stomach. “Johnny,” he said, confused and hurt. “Johnny.”_

_“Dad?” John ran to him dropping the gun on the way. “Dad!”_

_“What’d you do, Johnny?” His dad said around a mouthful of blood. “What did you do?”_

 

“John! John!” 

A scream, a pitiful, shrill, broken thing pierced through the silence of the apartment. Sweat was gluing him to the bedsheets, his hair matted down onto his forehead with it. Strong hands shook his shoulders, asked if he was okay, begged him for an answer.

A dull sense of consciousness came to him in a cold wave, and he started struggling out of Alex’s grasp. “No!” He screamed, still not fully awake. “Let go!” He looked straight at Alex, and Alex let go. John curled up against the headboard, as far away from Alex as he could. Made himself as small as possible, tried to feel like he could sink through the wall.

“It was a dream, John,” Alex said slowly, addressing John like a wounded animal. “You had a nightmare.”

John’s eyes were wide, blurring with tears. The dream was over but he was still so scared. Heartbeat so loud in his ears that his vision blurred with the force of it.

“No,” John whispered hoarsely. 

“You’re okay, you’re here, and you’re safe,” Alex said. “Let me hold you.”

John shook his head furiously, and Alex nodded. “I’ll stay with you,” he said.

It took almost twenty minutes, Alex sitting in front of John with no choice but to watch him cry. He finally calmed down enough, and silently crawled back to Alex and went limp in his arms.

“You’re okay, baby,” Alex whispered, running his fingers through John’s hair. “You’re safe. I love you.”

John was still crying, but it was mostly silent by now. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, once he came back to himself long enough to form actual words.

“Don’t be,” Alex said calmly. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry,” John said again, crying just a little more.

Alex kept holding him until eventually John fell back asleep in his arms.

 

 

 

Still unspeakably tired from the night before, John and Alex agreed to spend the day with John's brothers. Sleepless nights were nothing new to either of them, coping wasn't difficult.

As per James Laurens' request— and insistence that he needed a drivers license right now and no, it doesn’t have anything to do with his new girlfriend— John had agreed to teach him how to drive. Alex, needing an interesting way to spend the evening, agreed to join them, Henry Jr. had much the same mindset.

So, with impressively little protest, both Alex and Henry Jr. agreed to take the backseat so John could ride shotgun with a very nervous James.

“Now step on the gas, real easy,” John instructed.

James nodded, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and slammed the gas forward. Every head in the car was thrown back against their respective seats.

“Fuck!” John said, and James hit the breaks hard. “No! What was that?”

“You said step on the gas!”

“ _Gently_ step on the gas,” John said.

“You really want us to die in a horrible fiery car accident don’t you?” Henry Jr. grumbled from the backseat.

“If I die before the Bar Association induction, I’m gonna haunt you, James Laurens,” Alex warned.

“I’m trying!” James shouted, the car quieted suddenly and he immediately looked down at his hands. John reached over and shifted gears to park the car.

“Don’t get frustrated. I’m sorry I yelled,” he said gently. “You’re doing great for your first time, okay?”

James looked up. “You think so?”

“The first time I drove a car I almost made my own drive through at the local Arby’s, so, yeah, you’re doing great, bud,” Alex piped up from the backseat and James laughed.

"They have Arby's in Nevis?" John asked.

"Didn't drive until I came here," Alex said. "Burr taught me."

"Oh my God."

"Yup."

"That's... a story for another time," John turned his attention to James. “Let’s try again, yeah?” He asked, and James nodded.

Henry crossed himself and said a quick prayer next to Alex in the backseat, and Alex couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Okay, shift to drive.”

“The D,” James said.

“The D,” John confirmed, and Alex and Henry giggled from the backseat.

John turned around, shook his head in disappointment. “Immature.”

“We didn’t even say anything!” Alex protested, and John rolled his eyes.

“Alright, now, gently ease on to the gas.”

A gentle push on the gas, so gentle the car didn't even move forward. The passengers sat in tense silence. Henry Jr was white knuckling the ceiling handle in the backseat, eyes wide and terrified.

“James?" John asked cautiously. "You can press down a little harder than that.”

James swallowed, and pressed a it harder, lurching the car forward, but not in a dangerous way. John smiled. 

“You’re nailing it,” he said. “Now, take that corner,” he pointed to a spot in the empty parking lot.

“Right,” James said, taking the corner at about two miles per hour.

In the backseat, Alex was typing out emails, and Henry was twiddling his thumbs. James seemed to be growing more confident by the second, but was interrupted by his younger brother.

“I’m literally gonna die of boredom,” Henry blurted.

"What, would you rather him go fifty and kill us?" John asked him in the rearview.

"Honestly? Y--"

"Don't answer that," Alex mumbled, eyes still on the phone.

Henry bit his tongue, rolled his eyes.

“He’s being safe,” John defended.

“He’s being _boring_ ,” Henry argued. “At least let’s listen to music.”

“You want music, James?” John asked.

“Not really.”

“Sorry, Hen. No music. Driver’s rules.”

When Henry didn’t protest, John peered into the rearview mirror for a look at the backseat, where Alex was handing Henry an earbud with a sly smile. Henry grinned back big and bright, John bit back his own smile.

“Now drive straight up this isle, keep it, like, ten miles an hour, huh?”

“Ten, got it,” James said, pressing the gas too hard, sending all four passengers to slam back into their seats.

 

 

 

Laf turned the pink rectangular piece of paper in their hand. 

“I’d already forgotten about this,” they admitted.

“It’s still good, right?” John asked, eyes hopeful.

Laf glanced down, and smiled at the memory of it.

_This coupon entitles Mr. John Laurens to 1 (one) free makeover courtesy of Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, Marquis de Lafayette. (Cannot redeem while in prison)._

“Of course it’s still good, amour,” Laf smiled kindly. “What did you have in mind?”

 

 

As it turns out, what John had in mind was a legitimate makeover, which Laf found to be a pleasant surprise.

It took a little over an hour, John stopping Laf suddenly every now and again, a swell of fear overcoming him. Constant reassurance from Laf. It doesn’t matter, you look great, you can wash it off if you don’t like it.

John fidgeted in his seat. “This makes me nervous,” He admitted. 

“Really? I was not able to tell.”

“I’m sorry, Laf. You’re doing great I’m just—“

“You fear repercussions.”

“That’s what my therapist says,” John mumbled. 

“It’s understandable, amour. I’m not upset with you. I know what used to happen if you were found wearing makeup.”

This time John didn’t respond, just stayed pliant under Laf’s experienced hands as they blended eyeshadow out on John’s eyelids.

“Where’d you learn how to do makeup?” John asked.

Laf paused for just a brief moment. “An ex of mine.”

“In America?”

“Yes,” Laf smiled. “In France I never did such things.”

“Why not?”

A sad smile. “It’s difficult to explain, amour. Life is easier when you conform.”

“Preach.”

“But it’s not always the best option,” Laf carried on. “In France, I—“ they swallowed. “I was very depressed. Some things happened, I ended up getting treatment. As soon as I was released, I came to America.”

“Why?”

“Land of the free, home of the brave,” Laf sighed. “I didn’t feel like either of those, I hoped this country had something to offer me that France did not.”

“And did it?”

Laf smiled. “A few things, actually.”

“How’d you meet Alex and Herc?”

“I was bartending,” they chuckled. “Alex hit on me, actually.”

John shook his head, not at all surprised. “Of course he did.”

“I was dating a woman at the time, so we just became friends. I met Herc when he became roommates with Alex.”

“The same woman that taught you makeup?”

“Not quite,” Laf smiled. “Alex wasn’t the only one with a track record.”

“Too much info, Laf,” John said. “Don’t need to know about your college exploits.”

“Everyone in this house except for you and Herc had a hoe phase, John. Get used to it.”

“For the record, had I been out, I totally would’ve had a hoe phase.”

“This is something you brag about?”

“Yeah, okay, fuck off. I have another question.”

“I’m an open book.”

“When did you start dating Herc?”

Laf stopped, stunned. “How did you know about this??”

“Everyone knows, Laf. Literally everyone.”

“Well then,” Laf said. “I don’t know. I don’t know if we’re dating.”

“It’s literally been years.”

Laf shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

They sat in amicable silence for a few more moments.

“When are they getting home?” John finally asked.

“They make their own hours, so whenever they please,” Laf shrugged. “No way to know. Why do you ask?” Laf asked, speaking slow while they were concentrating.

John shrugged again. 

Laf stopped as suddenly as they’d begun. “Why do you ask, John?”

John shrugged and mumbled an I don’t know.

“Let me finish. If you don’t like it you can wash it off right after, okay?”

John nodded. “Okay.”

 

 

 

Alex and Herc arrived home just as Laf was putting the finishing touches on John’s lipstick.

“Laf? John?” Herc called, and John’s eyes shot open.

“In here!” Laf called back, and John mouthed a pitiful ‘no’ which Laf ignored entirely.

Herc leaned in the doorway, raised his eyebrow. “You putting makeup on John?”

Laf smiled and turned John to face Herc, who whistled.

“Shit,” He said, grinning from the doorway. 

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re gonna give your boyfriend a heart attack, but the good kind,” he winked and made his way back out of the room.

Laf and John looked at each other, both of them laughed just a little, a quiet exchange that brought the tension in John's shoulders down to a measurable degree.

“Alex, you gotta see your boy,” they heard Herc say from the living room.

Laf put a reassuring hand on John's shoulder. 

“Laf’s room?”

“Laf’s room.”

Light footsteps, still not out of his fancy work shoes. Alex walked in, loosened tie around his neck, sleeves rolled up, hair back but messy, and leaned in the doorway the same as Herc had done. When he saw John, he lost his footing and slipped, but caught himself on the doorway and tried to lean like it never happened.

“Whoa, hey,” Alex said, eyes pretty much glazed over.

“Hey,” John replied.

“Hey,” Alex said again, and Laf snorted and covered it with a fake cough when Alex glared. “I mean… hey.”

“I’ve never seen him like this!” Herc called from the other side of the doorway. “Next time he won’t shut the hell up, somebody put some lipstick on John.”

“Shut the hell up,” Alex spat, a moment of fire and fury extinguished immediately when he turned back to his boyfriend.

“You have anything to say other than ‘hey’?” Laf asked.

“Yeah, yeah, um,” Alex’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I… you look… you look good,” he cleared his throat awkwardly.

“He was wanting to wash it off before you got home, I told him that was a bad idea. Looks like I was right,” Laf smiled smugly.

“Is this… like… a thing now?” Alex asked.

John shrugged shyly. “I don't know.”

“If it is, that’s fine,” Alex said quickly, “If not, that’s fine too.”

Rolling their eyes, Laf stood and made their way past Alex and out of the room. “You’re hopeless, Alexander,” they said fondly before they exited. 

Never approaching, Alex kept staring at John with brown puppy dog eyes huge. They exchanged a little silent moment, just looking at each other. Self consciousness snapped John out of it, and he broke to look at the floor instead.

“Hey," Alex repeated, finally walking towards him.

"Hey," John responded back, lipstick mouth curling foreignly around the word.

Alex extended a hand to John, who gently locked their fingers together. "Have you looked at yourself?"

Everything felt like it was happening on the other side of a glass wall, John wasn't sure he was still present. He shook his head, at least knowing the answer to that question. Alex nodded, and pulled him lightly to Laf's full body mirror they had on the inside of the door.

“You see it, right?” Alex whispered. John couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Fear and excitement and something else were racing through him so fast he couldn’t think. Trained his eyes on the carpet, not knowing what to do with himself.

Alex took a tender hand and put it on John’s chin, moving his face so he could see himself in the mirror. “You see?”

Truthfully, John hadn’t really wanted to see himself, but Alex was so sincere, so he looked.

His eyes were framed in dark and cool colors, bringing out the hazel, pinkish lipstick, cheeks shining. He smiled at himself in the mirror for the first time since he could remember.

“I mean, Christ, John. Cut a guy a break,” Alex wrapped John up from behind, fitted his face next to Johns. Nuzzled lightly at John's hair and neck, bringing a laugh out of him.

He was all tired eyes, inky black hair, tanned Caribbean skin, still was the most beautiful thing in the room, but his eyes were trained on John as if he wasn't. As if John were the marvel here. It made his heartbeat pick up ever so slightly to think about.

With Alex, there was always the question of what was enough. He was an electric current, and if the wires were too fragile he'd fry them. It blew John's mind every time he thought about himself just being enough for a guy like Alex, let alone exactly what he wanted. Was he enough? Could he ever really be enough?

It was with a startling frequency that Alex looked at him like he put all the stars in the sky, and John would feel like enough. Enough for Alex, enough for the whole world. This was one of those times.

John turned his head, caught his lips with Alex's. Slow, moving together like choreography. They broke, and John laughed when he saw Alex's lips smudged with the nude pink color.

"Looks better on you," Alex smiled, wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

"It's... It's, uh--" John trailed off, looking for the words. "You asked if this was gonna be like a thing now? Yeah, it's not."

"And why's that?"

"Honestly?" John said. "Feels kind of gross on my face."

"Really?"

"Yeah," John said. "I don't like the feeling of thick makeup."

Alex nodded knowingly. He knew why, even used it in opening statements during the trial.

“You wanna wash it off?"

John considered for a moment.

"Not yet."

Alex smiled brightly in return. "Wanna take selfies then hop in the shower?"

"Sounds like a plan."

 

 

That night, he dreamed he was drowning, bleeding inexplicably pink blood into an otherwise blue ocean. He struggled, kicked, gasped into the water. Alex woke him up, and the water turned to bed sheets, and the blood turned to tears. Alex tried to comfort him. In a horrified daze, John ended up laying on his side, away from Alex's touch, and watched the city outside the dark window until the sun came up.

 

 

Aunt Emily asked them to come over for pictures before the ceremony, and Alex had insisted they actually go. Now that her house was friendly to John, now that the threats to him were gone from there, he went over more often, even took Alex with him when he could.

The split had been one hell of a show, and more time consuming than a regular divorce, according to Burr, but she’d done it. Winston was out of the picture, doing graphic designs for some startup in Texas. Emily was alone with the kids, and she seemed happy that way. She’d always wanted kids, and, in the unlikeliest of ways, she finally had some.

Like two teenagers on prom night, Alex and John stood in front of a large fireplace, arms locked, smiling for pictures for an overjoyed aunt on the other side of the camera.

John wore the suit Herc had made him for their first birthday together, the one during the trial when John thought he really would never have an opportunity to wear it. Laf helped him throw his hair into a bun, one a little fancier than his usual, undercut on full display. No makeup, because yes it’s fun sometimes but wow is it work. And Alex was…

Alex was beaming. He opted for a more traditional suit, one that fit him perfect in all the perfect places, and Alex had many. Since he woke up that morning Alex had been nothing but wide eyes and a full smile, elated and honored to finally be an official lawyer. 

It was weird and it was nice, bringing his boyfriend around his family. It was nice to not have secrets, it was nice they all loved Alex almost as much as he did.

“Photobomb!” Henry called, throwing a plastic chicken in John’s face that Alex swatted away before it could hit him.

John flinched, of course. He always flinched.

“Hey!” Alex and Em scolded him at the same time.

“Throw something at him again, see what happens,” Alex grumbled, glow from excitement gone.

“He’s ten, Alex,” John defended.

“I’m not above it.”

“Bring it, law man,” Henry retorted.

“You know what—“

“Alright, I think that’s our cue to take this outside,” Emily said. “Where’s James? He’s my usual camera guy.”

“Skyping Brooklyn girl,” Henry answered.

"Oooooh," John said, over-the-top scandalized. 

"Tell me about it," Henry grumbled.

“Would you come with me to go get him?" Emily asked Henry Jr. "He takes much better pictures, and usually you're the only one aggressive enough to get him off Skype."

Henry stood and gave a dramatic salute and turned to find his older brother, followed by Emily.

"Wanna go sit on the patio and wait?" John offered.

"Sure," Alex smiled. 

Emily's backyard was beautiful. She had designed it for entertaining guests, with lights strung up and flowers everywhere, even on the large patio. Plenty of lush green grass and a huge oak tree in the center of it all. 

Martha and Mary were sitting at the table outside, having a mildly intense conversation before they saw John and Alex and abruptly stopped. Martha wolf-whistled. 

"Hot damn," she said. "Y'all clean up nice. Who knew?"

"Is that an insult or a compliment?" Alex asked.

"Definitely both," John responded.

"You know me so well," she put a hand on her chest, sarcastically wiped a tear from her eye. "Seriously though, congrats on your lawyer thing, Alex."

"Thank ya ma'am," Alex smiled at her.

"Even though I feel like you were lawyering just fine before, but whatever," she rolled her eyes. "Rules are rules."

"Rules are rules," Alex nodded. "Good to be official, though."

"Maybe now you won't get kicked off any trials," she chuckled.

Alex's laugh was cut off by Mary's harsh response. "Oh, so we're joking about it now?"

A silence. John shifted his weight uncomfortably, knowing there was nothing he could say.

"Chill, Mary," Martha said. "You don't have to be an asshole about it."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Right," she said, rose out of her seat, walked right past John and entered the house, slammed the door behind her.

An uncomfortable silence. "She's just a bitch, don't take it to heart," Martha said, sympathy in her eyes.

John nodded, Alex grabbed his hand, gave it a light squeeze.

Mary was the only one out of them who never really accepted John back after everything. Given the circumstances, John couldn't really say he blamed her. At this point, it was expected.

"Okay," Emily came out of the house just a minute later, a barefoot James Laurens right behind her. “There, in front of the big tree,” she said, smiling ear to ear.

The oak tree cast a shade over them, just enough to where they wouldn't quite be cooking in the hot sun. John and Alex smiled uncomfortably again, posing for the camera with each other.

“Okay,” James looked down and adjusted some settings on the camera. “School renowned photographer James Laurens at your service. Any requests?”

“Make me look glamorous,” Alex posed flamboyantly, breaking the melancholy air that had surrounded them since Mary's exit. John couldn't help his laugh as James snapped a picture.

“Can y’all sit on the ground in front of the tree without ruining your pants?” James asked. Alex shrugged and sat, and looked up at John who was still standing.

“Come on, sit,” he patted the ground next to him.

“I’m not getting dirt on Herc’s suit. I like my life, thank you very much.”

“Sit or I’ll make you.”

“You can’t make m—“

John squealed as Alex reached and pulled him down by the hem of his jacket, he lost his footing and fell partially over Alex. Soon the two of them were cracking up, heads leaned against one another. James snapped a few shots.

“He’s beauty, he’s grace!” Alex taunted.

“You’re dead to me,” John looked at his boyfriend.

“You’re deader.”

“You’re deadest!”

“Oh my God, you’re actual children,” James laughed, ran a hand through his hair and snapped another few pictures.

“How’s Brooklyn girl?” Alex asked, and James flushed.

“You weren’t supposed to tell people!” He said to John.

“Henry did it! Besides, Alex is barely a person, he doesn’t count.”

Alex nodded seriously. “He’s right. I’m half robot at best.”

“He’s 40% coffee, 20% Redbull—“

“And 40% heartthrob,” Alex finished with a smug smile.

“Not how I was gonna finish, but, sure, let’s go with that,” John smiled and Alex caught his eye.

There was the awkward pause, both of them restraining themselves from a moment that definitely would've been a kiss otherwise. 

“Just kiss already,” Em said, and Alex grinned big and gave John a quick kiss. James took a picture. 

“We need to be going,” Alex said seriously when they finished. He stood, then held out a hand to help John up, which John gladly accepted. 

Alex leaned back to look at John’s now dirt-covered butt, he reached to swipe the dirt off and James rose his eyebrows. 

“Really? In front of us?”

“I’m getting the dirt off him.“

“Yeah right.”

“If you’d like me to show you the difference between pa—“

“Alrighty then,” Emily interrupted, and John tried to stifle the fit of giggles that overcame him. “I’ll walk you out,” she smiled.

 

 

 

 

The ceremony was, admittedly, not what they expected.

It was like prom minus the dim lighting, dance music, and grinding. Instead it had a small band, a huge table of food, and about a hundred new lawyers all smiling ear to ear.

“This is…”

“Miserable?” John offered.

“Yeah.”

They were sitting at a table in the corner snacking on some fancy cheese and grapes. They had mingled for what felt like hours, and both of them just needed a break from all the people. John was fiddling with Alex’s hand under the table, twisting it, locking their fingers together and pulling them apart.

“Wanna go to the bathroom?” Alex wiggled his eyebrows.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Come on, it’s taboo.”

“I’m so not okay with having a quickie in the bathroom of a lawyer ceremony,” John retorted.

“You’re a bore, Laurens,” 

“You’re a whore, Hamilton.”

Alex snorted out a laugh that made a few guests around them turn and look. He had to put his head in his hands to mask the laughter. 

“Jesus,” Alex leaned up and wiped a tear out of his eye. “I hate to admit it but you calling me a whore might be the highlight of the night.”

John wriggled a suggestive eyebrow, and Alex let out another startled laugh. “Can’t take you anywhere, Laurens.”

Alex’s phone chimed with a text from Herc that read, **Johns jacket has inner pockets. Pls bring food home.**

“Absolutely not,” John said immediately, and Alex nodded and typed out a quick response.

“Is this etiquette?” Alex asked suddenly, gesturing vaguely.

“What?”

“I mean, you’re a regular high society southern belle,” Alex brought out his very best South Carolinian accent. “Are we being ‘proper’?”

“I mean, no,” John said. “We should still be mingling, should be drinking, probably not holding hands, calling you a whore would be out of the question, don’t sit unless we’re eating, dumb shit like that.”

“That is indeed dumb shit,” Alex hummed in agreement. “You look beautiful, by the way. Have I mentioned that?”

“A couple times.”

“Only a couple? Maybe I should show you instead—“

“Again, not up for a quickie in the fancy bathroom.”

“Later?”

“Later.”

Alex did a silent pump with his fist in victory, which John ignored and took a sip of water.

Before they actually died of boredom, someone finally took the stage. President of the New York Bar, and he was just as lifeless as any of them could’ve imagined. Alex was, of course, entranced, radiant, happy to be there and honored to be a part of all of it, no matter how cool he tried to act about the whole thing. That made the night a little better, John thought. Seeing a smiling, excited Alex made everything just a little better.

Suddenly applause erupted and Alex turned to John, wide eyed and horrified. Belatedly, John realized he’d tuned the speaker out completely in order to stare at his boyfriend.

“What?” John whispered over the applause, Alex just kept staring.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” A familiar voice rang from the stage, and neither of them looked up. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” John said, recognizing the voice immediately.

“I’d like to thank Mister White for that lovely introduction, and I’d like to thank y’all for joining us here tonight.”

Thomas Jefferson’s skin was shining under the spotlight, hair down but tamed appropriately, smile on his lips as he addressed the crowd. 

“Tonight, we’re here to induct the newest members of the New York Bar—“ he started, and John leaned into Alex. 

“You okay?” He asked.

“Fuck no,” Alex hissed back. “Who invited him?”

“He’s VP of the Bar, apparently.”

“Three years ago, I was thrust into an experience that changed me forever,“ Jefferson continued.

“Who the fuck uses the word _thrust_ all casual like that?” Alex whispered.

“And I stand before you, nearly a hundred more cases won, and I have advice. Advice for every man and woman being inducted tonight.”

“Gender bigot,” Alex grumbled.

“You’re here to defend the law. Don’t forget that. You’re not here for the money, or the fame, you’re here because you’ve felt a calling to make this world right. To defend goodness and righteousness. If you get too caught up in the other bits, things blur, and you may end up dropping charges on the most high profile case you’ll ever be a part of and doing some serious damage to your career along the way.”

Some laughter, John couldn’t bring himself to join in. A few people glanced his way, no doubt very aware he was in the room, John avoided eye contact while Alex gave them all death glares.

“But, here I am. I did what was right, and I keep doing it. Here’s to new beginnings, and here's to never losing your way,” Jefferson held up his cup, and everyone did the same. “Now, let’s get on with the ceremony, eh?”

Alex clapped slowly, attitude in every move.

“We’re on good terms, remember? He’s the reason I’m not in prison,” John said.

“I don’t like forgiving people.”

“I know. That’s why you still send your old teacher hate mail on Facebook.”

“Adams, the old son of a bitch,” Alex muttered, mostly to himself. “Anyway.”

“Anyway.”

They smiled at each other, some other boring lawyer man talking on stage. When they finally asked for the inductees to come up, Alex’s eyes grew wide, and John nodded encouragingly. “I’ll take pictures,” he said, and Alex just nodded and walked to the stage with the rest of them.

“Welcome to the New York State Bar, and congratulations,” an old white man in a suit said dully. “I will now recite the oath of office, required by judiciary law, section 466.”

John crept up, along with several others, to take pictures of the group of lawyers up there. A good percentage of the picture taking crowd seemed to be proud parents, and John definitely stood out, but he just couldn't find it within himself to care. Alex was up front, trying to disguise his excitement and keep a straight face which resulted in one of the most adorable pictures John had ever taken.

“Raise your right hand and repeat after me. I do solemnly swear.”

“I do solemnly swear,” the crowd of lawyers repeated back to him, restless energy abound.

“That I will support.”

“That I will support.”

“The constitution of the United States.”

“The constitution of the United States.”

“And the constitution of the state of New York.”

“And the constitution of the state of New York.”

“And that I will faithfully discharge.”

“And that I will faithfully discharge.”

“The duties of the office.”

“The duties of the office.”

In the crowd, John took a few pictures of Alex’s ‘trying-to-be-cool-but-actually-really-really-excited’ face and made a mental note to send them to Herc and Laf later.

“Of attorney and counselor at law.”

“Of attorney and counselor at law.”

“Of the state of New York.”

“Of the state of New York.”

“According to the best of my ability.”

“According to the best of my ability.”

“Congratulations,” the man said, and most every lawyer cracked a smile. Among them, Alex looked like his face might split in two. John pocketed his phone and clapped with the crowd as the lawyers filed offstage. Alex went straight to him for a hug.

“I did it,” he mumbled into the fabric of John’s jacket.

“You did it.”

“I didn’t think I could do it.”

“I knew you could do it.”

Alex looked back up at John.

“Proud of you.”

Alex nodded, still deliriously happy. “Gonna say bye to some people, then we can go, okay?”

“Take your time, we’re not in a rush,” John smiled.

There was a moderately uncomfortable half hour where Alex and John interacted with various people of the Bar Association, never so much as catching sight of Jefferson again.

“Congratulations,” a woman interrupted as they finally made their way to the door. Alex turned and smiled.

“Thank you,” he said, genuine. “Do I…?”

“Angelica Schuyler,” she held out her hand for them both to shake.

“Ah,” John said knowingly.

“I assumed at least he’d know who I was,” she smiled a bit, gesturing at John. “Used to work with— or rather, against— his father in Congress. Just wanted to say congratulations, Alexander. You’re the youngest inductee, and that’s no easy feat.”

“He definitely worked for it,” John said, feeling like a bragging parent.

“I’m sure he did.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” Alex asked.

“I’m… I’m with someone,” she smiled, the first hint of nervousness John had ever seen flashed across her features. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Right. Have a good night,” John said, and Alex followed with his own goodbye.

They turned back towards the door, Alex looped his arm through John’s, like a proper date, and they made their way outside.

“I’m surprised we haven't heard from good ol’ fluffy hair,” Alex mumbled.

“Laf?”

“Ha ha.” Alex deadpanned.

They walked for several paces before John interrupted. 

“Where’d I leave the car?” John stopped suddenly, looking around the parking lot.

“Oh,” Alex looked around. “I actually think—“

“The back, right,” John said. “Anyway,” they continued walking. “I need food, because that whole wine and cheese thing don’t cut it. Where do you want to go?” 

“Five Guys?” Alex asked.

“I hate that place.”

“You’re a disgrace, John Laurens,” Alex shook his head. “What, do you prefer McDonald’s?”

“Nah, I’m a cultured bitch. Burger King.”

Alex laughed. “I’ll text Herc and see if him and Lumiere want something.”

“ _Never_ call Laf—“

“Excuse me,” a female voice echoed through the parking lot. 

John dropped Alex’s arm out of his and turned.  She was relatively small, blazer and pencil skirt on. Her smile was painted on, a forgery of an expression on her otherwise friendly face, even from a distance. “Are you John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton?”

“Uh-oh,” Alex mumbled. “Don’t like that using our full names business.”

“Who is she?” John whispered back as she hurriedly approached them, heels clicking on the pavement.

“Are the two of you together?” She asked.

“I’m sorry, who are—“

“I’m Deborah Sampson, NY Times,” she said, at about the same time a man came from the shadows behind her with a camera, as if they were waiting to ambush them.

“John Laurens, it’s been three years since you murdered your father, and—“

“We’re absolutely not doing this tonight,” Alex said, lawyer mode on. He turned to John. “Car’s in the back.”

“Right,” John took the cue to walk away. Alex had been expecting to draw the fire to himself, in reality the reporter and her cameraman just followed John. 

“Son of a—“ Alex jogged to catch up to them, her barking questions at John.

“Don’t answer, John,” Alex advised, voice steady.

“I take it you two are dates for the evening?”

Silence, Alex was playing the politics game, and John was just complacent in the process.

“There have been reports, pictures, lots of things suggesting you’re attending the Pratt Institute now, John. Can you confirm this?”

Silence, they were within just a few feet of the car.

“Have you been with Alexander Hamilton since the trial?” She asked. “Were you romantically involved _during_ the trial?” John uncharacteristically didn’t walk and open the passenger side door for Alex, just opted to go straight inside the car. Alex did the same.

The doors shut while she was still at the driver’s side, yapping away. She stopped eventually, and waited patiently outside, Alex scoffed at her. John breathed deep, cranked the car, and nothing happened.

Alex’s eyes widened. “Try it again,” he said hurriedly.

John turned the key a few more times. The engine hummed to life, and died just as suddenly. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“The hell’s the point of all that money _if_ _we don’t have a car that works_?!” Alex growled.

The reporter knocked on the glass of John’s door, smiled a shit-eating smile. John rolled down the window just an inch.

“Need a lift?” She asked, a knowing smile on her face.

“Put the window back up,” Alex said, and John did as he was told. “Bitch fucked with your car.”

“Probably.”

“We can’t ride with them.”

“No shit.”

Alex sat for a minute, ideas racing through his head. Finally, he groaned, slammed his head back against the seat.

“What?”

“I know a way out,” Alex said.

“Well?” John asked expectantly. “Fucking get it. What is it?”

In response, Alex pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and stopped suddenly. He tapped once on a name and held the phone out so John could see it.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

 

 

 

 

Jefferson was smiling in the front seat, just a little, but Alex could see it from his reflection in the rear-view.

“Stop grinning, jackass.”

“You want to take a ride with the reporters, be my guest,” Jefferson responded. “Gotta pull around and get my date first.”

“Your date?”

“Yeah, why do you think I sat both your asses in the backseat?”

Alex shrugged. “Like a chauffeur service?”

“You can go fuck yourself, good sir,” he said casually, stopping at the front of the building.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Alex said, leaning up. John could see the cogs turning in his head as he processed what he’d seen earlier that night. “Don’t tell me.”

“What?”

“Don’t tell me Angelica Schuyler is your date.”

Jefferson shrugged, loosened his tie. “Fine, I won’t tell you.”

“Son of a bitch,” Alex said. “Okay, I have problems with that—“

“You’re not allowed to have problems with my love life.”

“—First, you never told me you were bi. I know because it’s something we really could’ve bonded over. And two, how the hell did you end up with—“ he looked at the slim, graceful figure approaching the car. “That?”

Jefferson’s smile took up most of his face. “She started working with me when Mads left,” he said. Angelica opened the door and got inside, sighing deep. When she looked in the rear-view, she stopped suddenly.

“Thomas,” she said, voice even.

“Yeah?”

“Why.”

“Long story,” he shook his head. “Just gonna drop them off real quick.”

“Right,” she said, looked down at her phone to check the time. “This feels awkward.”

“That’s because it is,” Jefferson said.

“Sorry I didn’t mention this earlier,” Angelica turned to Alex. “Didn’t want to… well, make it awkward. But since that’s happened, I might as well come clean.”

“You’re with Thomas?” Alex asked.

“Yes, I am.”

“I already told you that, Alex.” Thomas said from the front seat.

“Yeah, but I need to hear it from her mouth to believe it.”

“Of course you do.”

There was an uncomfortable silence that seemed to stretch forever. John and Alex texted between the two of them until Jefferson said, “I see y’all jackasses.”

They both put their phones down like scolded schoolboys. More awkward silence.

“John,” Thomas spoke up, peering at John in the rearview. “Look, I— I want to apologize. For the trial.”

Alex’s jaw dropped in shock.

“Don’t,” John said. “Thank you for dropping the charges, but don’t apologize for pursuing it. Honestly, if it was up to me…” he trailed off.

“I figured as much,” Thomas said.  “And getting off with no consequences _is_ a bit much—“

“I swear to _God_ ,” Alex interrupted.

“That being said,” Jefferson continued, unfazed. “I’m just sorry for any strain I put on you and your family.”

“You’re forgiven,” John almost laughed at it. “Of course you’re forgiven. Don’t apologize.”

Silence. Jefferson swallowed hard for a moment, Alex and John pretended not to notice it.

“So,” Jefferson cleared his throat. “Are you two…” he gestured with one hand.

“Yup,” Alex said loudly, no reservation whatsoever. “Sure are.” 

“Since the trial?” He asked.

“More or less,” John answered.

“ _Scandalous_ , Alexander,” Angelica breathed.

“Scandal is his middle name,” Jefferson responded. 

“Might as well be,” Alex mumbled. “I’ve had sex with two out of three of present company—“

“Why would you bring that up?”

Alex looked startled. “Didn’t realize it was out loud.”

“Right,” John responded, unconvinced. 

“For the record, so have—“ A death glare from Angelica cut off Thomas mid sentence. “Never mind.”

A silence.

“Team only-fucked-one-other-person-in-the-car _represent_!” Angelica called out suddenly, making the entire car burst into laughter as her and John started causing a ruckus, hooping and hollering.

“Team slut represent!” Alex called out in response, and he and Jefferson did the same.

Angelica reached back and smacked him on the side of the head.

“What was that for?”

“Don’t call my man a slut,” she said.

Alex looked at John. “Are you not gonna get mad at Thomas too? He basically agreed that I'm a slut.”

“I called you a whore like a few hours ago, I can’t really say anything.”

“TMI,” Jefferson said.

“No, not a sex thing—“

“Well…” Alex said.

“Shut your mouth.”

More laughter. John was beginning to feel more at ease now, and it lifted him in a way he didn’t realize he had needed.

“Wait!” Alex called suddenly. “Thomas. Dear, sweet, Thomas…”

“What do you want?” 

“Burger King?”

Thomas’ lips curled up in a smile he couldn’t quite help. “Yeah, we can do some Burger King.”

 

 

 

They arrived home around 3 a.m., after the manager at the Burger King kindly told them to leave as they were being too loud for the restaurant. 

“You know,” John said as they came up the stairs to their apartment. “Jefferson is… he’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, I don’t date losers, duh,” Alex said. 

“I’m glad y’all are friends again.”

“Barely,” Alex said, knowing damn well tonight had pretty much mended their friendship and created two more.

Alex fumbled for the key before John tried the knob and realized Herc and Laf had left the door unlocked for them.

“How sweet,” John said.

“They’re gonna get fucking killed,” Alex rolled his eyes. “This is New York.”

Laf and Herc had fallen asleep on the couch, re-runs of Hell’s Kitchen playing in the background. Alex and John walked quietly to their room, shut the door as silently as possible.

“Should we wake them up?” John asked, immediately loosening his tie.

“Nah,” Alex said. “They’re grown adults. Also I’m not sure I wanna come clean about what time we really came home.”

“Got it,” John smiled, started carefully taking off the suit Herc made for him so long ago.

“Don’t forget to hang it,” Alex said, taking off his own suit. “Herc will lose his shit if you don’t.”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” John responded, taking the time to hang each piece of clothing up as he took them off.

Alex undressed first, as he threw his clothes on the floor and flopped onto the bed.

“Hypocrite,” John said, eyeing the pile on the floor. 

“Herc didn’t make that one, it’s different,” he said, mouth full of pillow.

John laughed and went to taking down his bun. When he was done, he got into bed beside Alex, pulled the cover over both of them, and just smiled at him, the lights of the city illuminating them through the window.

“What?” Alex asked, turning to look at John. “What are you starin’ at, Laurens?”

“I’m starin’ at you, Hamilton,” he reached an arm out, and Alex laid his head on it.

“You still wear that thing, huh?” Alex asked sleepily, and John furrowed his brows. “Necklace,” Alex clarified.

“Yeah, of course I still wear it.”

“You actually like it?” He asked.

“I love it almost as much as I love the man who gave it to me,” John smiled cheesily. “Why?”

Alex shrugged. “You wanna know the truth about it?”

“There’s a truth about it? I thought it was just a rune.”

“Well, yeah,” Alex said. “My mom—“ he stopped, continued on. “She uh, she had one like it. I don’t know if she knew what it meant, don’t know where she got it, but she always claimed it was lucky.”

John watched, entranced. Alex didn’t often open up about his family, and John soaked up whatever he could learn.

“So, when I got sick, she gave it to me, said it’d help me get well,” Alex swallowed, his breath stuttered just a bit. “And when she got sick, she didn’t have it anymore. And, you know, she died then.”

“Yeah I knew that,” John said when Alex fell silent. He tried to show Alex all the patience and kindness he showed John regularly.

“There’s always a part of me that thinks it’s because she didn’t have the necklace,” Alex said. “Stupid, superstitious shit. Buried her in it. Hoped it would help her get wherever she was going. I made the other one and tucked it away, and, I don’t know, finally read about what it meant in college, and when I saw you…” he closed his eyes, breathed deep. “I don’t know. You were all skinny and sickly looking. Like you were hurt. Wanted to give it to you. Thought it might help you somehow.”

“That’s not stupid,” John put a hand on Alex’s cheek. “I didn’t realize… shit.” John thought back to the first time he saw Alex and Herc. It was never love at first sight, to him love didn’t exist in the world at that point. But Alex, of course Alex, the man who charges headfirst into every situation, the man who loves and feels everything with the intensity of the sun itself, would find John and try to protect him in any way that made sense to him. “I love you,” he summed it all up.

He touched Alex like he was made of thin gold, something fragile, something to be cared for and cherished. Kissed and licked, savored the taste on his mouth. He was so lucky, luckier than any man could ever hope to be. They tangled and intertwined themselves until their colors blurred together, until any picture of one of them would bleed into the other. 

They kissed, John could feel tears on Alex’s cheeks as they did. “Love you so bad,” Alex said. “Hurts sometimes.”

“I know the feeling,” John laughed lightly. 

The fire and intensity of it eventually faded off into a lazy glow, the two of them finally slowing down until Alex dozed off to sleep. 

The lights of Manhattan were streaming through their window, as they always did because Alex refused to cover it. Liked to watch the sun rise over his city in the mornings. The light washed over both of them, something ethereal here in the dead of night. John, all bits of multicolored shattered glass and Alex, the fire that mended it into something beautiful. The fire that consumed, forged, refined.

He probably wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight, or the next night, and if he did he’d wake up screaming. That was the reality. That was their reality. They’d probably be seventy years old and John would be wrinkled and graying, still waking up and crying in the middle of the night, seeing his father and his past everywhere he looked.

But Alex would be there. And he’d be even older, same big brown eyes, holding him, being patient with him. He’d crack jokes to make him feel better, he’d try to stay up with him until his cheeks were completely under-eye bags, he’d offer him memories and bits of his story like gifts, he’d burn himself up to keep John warm, and John would do the same a thousand times over. They'd mix the good with the bad, and take in all in stride.

By action rather than words, they'd prove it time and time again. This life would always be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I started replying to your comments and is that weird or is it okay???? Because I really don’t know. I don’t wanna scare y’all away with it lol just let me know bc I don’t know protocol for these things.
> 
> Alright disclaimer: The bar association induction is not as big of a to-do as this one, but from the video I saw it does include the ceremony part. The rest of it was spiced up to make it a little more bearable.
> 
> I hope I didn’t leave anything unanswered, and I hope I included everything y’all wanted. Big shoutout to DoctorDeanWHolmes who probably doesn’t know I'm shouting them out but yeah their comment really helped map this epilogue. (" I hope Alex becomes a real lawyer and things work out somehow and I hope Jefferson is in it" so yeah these things happened).
> 
> And mayaschuyler is the prompt master and deserves love and recognition ok I love you and thank you a ton.
> 
> Come visit me on Tumblr @wellthatsnotverypunkofyou and feel free to submit prompts or just talk or whatever. You can also submit things/talk in the comments if you wanna.
> 
> If there’s any continuation you want to read about this little universe (some stuff that happened earlier, some things that will happen, whatever) lemme know and I’ll get on it. Honestly like college days stories or future stories or something would all be pretty fun but idk
> 
> I LOVE YOU ALL UNCONDITIONALLY PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS FOR ME TO BRING ME HAPPINESS IN THESE DARK COLLEGE DAYS. I’ve had the best of times working on this, and I owe it to you lovely Hamilton folks. Thank you all.  
> Til next time,  
> xissiar


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